


Don't close your eyes, don't fade away

by LaVoileBlanche



Category: Class (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Stardust Fusion, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Claustrophobia, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Third Person, Panic Attacks, Slow Build, Stardust AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 30,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9716729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaVoileBlanche/pseuds/LaVoileBlanche
Summary: Matteusz has loved the stars for as long as he can remember.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally the longest thing I've ever written and it's for the smallest fandom I belong to, which is typical, I suppose. 
> 
> To start with - this is a Stardust AU, so if you've seen/read Stardust, you probably have a good idea of what you're in for. If you haven't, this should still make all kinds of sense, so don't worry. I've been pretty liberal with merging the content of both Class and Stardust (apologies to Patrick Ness and Neil Gaiman), but I think it makes a pretty good story regardless. I hope you guys feel similarly. Basic premise: Charlie is a fallen star, and Matteusz is the human who finds him. You can guess what happens next.
> 
> (You have no idea how many times I listened to 'Rule the World' while I was writing this.)

Matteusz has loved the stars for as long as he can remember. Wall, a clutch of slate-roofed houses, some cobbled streets and a single row of shops, has never held his interest the way they do, dancing in the sky a hundred thousand miles above him, and it's a fact he's been berated for more often than he cares to remember. His parents disapprove of his preoccupation  – he has been told to get his head out of the clouds hundreds upon hundreds of times  – but he cannot help himself; the breathless, uninhibited beauty of the night sky all alight with stars speaks to him like nothing else on Earth. He yearns to be so free.

Tonight, the moon is nestled like a pearl against the night’s dark skin, and Matteusz, wandering the patched fields that border the village, looks up, always, for the shimmer, the shifting illumination of a cosmic ocean. His breath condenses on the cool air, and he knows he will not be missed at home  – his parents love him in the obligatory way they are expected to, but even among them, already so estranged by their strange accents, their foreign ways, he is an outcast. He's been so long used to it that it barely even hurts anymore. He walks along the wall from which the village takes its name until he comes to its infamous gap, the rumoured border between two worlds. It’s guarded, usually, but tonight the old guard’s daughter is getting married  – the man who should have replaced him, Matteusz supposes, has better things to do than stay out all night in the cold.    
  
He’s alone under the stars, and he leans against the wall’s uneven surface and watches them burn with a familiar ache in his chest  – and as he watches, something unexplainable happens. Where the night had been clear and cloudless, there is now suddenly a dark, reaching mass of shadow sprawling out across it, unlike any cloud Matteusz has ever seen, shot through with veins of poisonous orange light. The shadow moves almost like a living thing, like it’s searching for something, the shape of it twisting into something new every second Matteusz watches. It pulls together all at once like a great inhalation, and then, for no reason Matteusz can guess, the whole bulk of it spirals out in one long, treacherous spear, and collides (that’s really the only word for it, a collision) with one of the brightest stars up there. The star flashes blindingly bright, just for a moment, and then, like it's been knocked from its purchase, it shoots across the sky and lands somewhere beyond the wall, somewhere far out of Matteusz’s sight. The shadow  – whatever it is  – recoils and then dissipates, as if it had never been there at all.

Matteusz, eyes still recovering from the flare of light from that single star, cannot understand what he has seen. He stands, for a moment, just processing, and then an insidious little thought slips into his head. He looks around – still, there’s no-one here. From here to the village, there is no-one to stop him from just – he glances again at the gap in the wall. It’s a crazy idea; he’s got nothing with him but a handful of loose coins and the clothes on his back, no food, no supplies, no idea what could be waiting for him. He’s not certain he believes the stories of the other world, over the wall, but if they’re true, and he crosses over, anything could happen. 

In the distance, he can just about see the lights from the village. People would notice, if he disappeared, but it seems unlikely that they’d send anyone after him. He is aware of something momentous happening, a slow shiver coming over his skin, his heart loud in his ears. The gap in the wall is right there, barely two feet away.  _ Anything could happen.  _ It isn’t something he can say about life in Wall. He takes a breath, and turns resolutely away from the distant glow of the village lanterns. A single step is all it takes, and then he’s on the other side of the wall. The world around him looks just as it had before, but he knows  – something has changed. As he heads for the line of trees that border the field, one hand clutching the strap of the bag strung across his chest, he doesn’t look back once.

*   


There is a market town on the other side of the tree line, a strange, wonderful place, with so many different things to look at there’s no way Matteusz can keep track of them all. There’s a dark-haired woman selling beautiful glass flowers, another in conversation with a shrunken head that hangs from a nail, and an enormously fat man haggling with someone over what looks like a necklace made of human hair. There are people in dark cloaks, and others in bright, sequined petticoats, animals with two heads and birds with reptilian spines running down their backs, squawking from their cages. Matteusz is suddenly aware of his own normalcy, his obvious humanness. He lets himself be carried by the push of the crowd, trying to take in everything. He stops when he sees a stall selling food he mostly recognises, and asks the woman behind the table for two of the strange, rounded loaves of bread displayed behind her, and a skin of water. He reaches into his bag for the pouch of coins, but when she hands over his purchases, she waves away the money.

“First time in the market?” she asks, and grins at Matteusz’s nod. “Well, you won’t find many wanting to trade in gold, not this close to the wall. Here, I’ll take the two top buttons of your jacket, and we’ll call it even.”

She hands him a knife, and bemused, Matteusz cuts away the buttons she’s requested. She holds them up to a candle, tilting them this way and that, but before he can ask what she’s looking for, or why, exactly, she’d rather take worthless buttons than the little coin he has, she pockets them.

“Do you know where I can buy a map?” he asks instead, and she, smiling, directs him to another street vendor, a wizened old man who sells him the map and a book of matches for two secrets, and the lace out of one of his boots. He offers them out to Matteusz with a toothless grin and a handful of complimentary walnuts, and by the time Matteusz has turned away, he is already bargaining with his next customer over how many tears a coil of rope will cost them. 

Matteusz moves on, and no-one pays him any attention as he struggles through the crowd, past the door of an inn called  _ The Slaughtered Prince _ and out the other side, onto quieter streets. He glances over his shoulder as he goes, for a last look at the madness of the scene – the moonlit marketplace heaving with all its strange customers – and then by the yellow gaslight, he unfurls the scroll the old man had given him. The map is emblazoned with the word ‘Stormhold’, and Matteusz supposes that that is where he finds himself. Stormhold, the kingdom beyond the wall. He feels almost as though he’s in a dream, but he is in no hurry to wake. With one boot newly loosened, his jacket buttonless, he is reading a map of a land that shouldn’t exist. It shows him that to the east, there are more small towns like this one, inns and ports, rivers and mountains, and far, far away, a palace figured on the page in silver ink. He looks up. The stars here are almost the same as England, spinning in well-known patterns above him, but somehow they are brighter, better  – more alive. He can’t help but notice, though, that the sky seems strange without the one that the shadows had displaced.

The innkeeper at  _ The Slaughtered Prince  _ gives him room and board for the night, and seems happy enough to take silver for it. For the first time in years, Matteusz falls asleep without knowing what the next day will bring, and he falls asleep smiling. 


	2. Chapter 2

He sets off early the next morning. There are birds singing somewhere, birds Matteusz hasn't heard before singing songs that sound curiously human, and the market is quiet, a handful of stalls open, more with their shutters down. Matteusz wonders if the people here sleep during daylight. He wonders if he lives here long enough, he will, too. He doesn't have any concrete idea where he’s going, only the vague notion of east, east and further east, away from the wall and into the vast unknown spaces of this new kingdom, maybe all the way to that distant palace. He puts the market town at his back, and follows a path into a forest where the trees create the illusion of midnight, the sunlight that filters down through them dyed green by the leaves. It’s beautiful. As he walks, he rips a chunk of bread from one of the round loaves and eats. The bread isn't like bread back home, but it's good anyway, and filling.

Eventually, he comes to a part of the forest where the trees bend towards him – or rather, the trees bend  _ away  _ from something else, with cracked boughs and warped bark. He thinks it is probably safest to stay on the path, to keep going forward to where the forest looks normal again – but he had been safe in Wall. He approaches, slowly, cautiously, the broken trees, and peers beyond them, to where, unbelievably, the ground gives way to a crater – a crater of ridged edges, the ground around it steely and twisted like superheated metal, unrecognisable even as earth. Matteusz stares. And stares some more.

“Erm, hello?”

There is a boy in the centre of the crater. Matteusz goes slowly to its edge, and looks down at him – just a boy, more or less his own age, slightly shorter, with light hair and blue eyes. He’s handsome, and dressed in dark trousers and a silver shirt with billowing sleeves, a material Matteusz has never seen before. He is looking up at Matteusz, just as Matteusz is looking down at him.

“Hello,” says Matteusz. “Are you okay?”

“Erm,” the boy says. “Erm, no. No, I don't think so. I hurt my leg when I fell. I can't climb out.”

Now that he has pointed it out, Matteusz can see where he is favouring his left leg slightly, leaning more of his weight on it.

“Hold on,” he says. The edges of the crater are folded like curtains, but they are smooth folds. If he is careful… He lowers himself to the ground, dangling his legs over the crater’s mouth.

“What are you doing?” says the boy, and Matteusz grins at him.

“I am rescuing you,” he says, and pushes away from the edge. He slides to the bottom of the crater with far more grace than he had hoped for, and climbs to his feet, brushing dust from his palms. The boy stares at him. “My name is Matteusz. Who are you, strange boy who falls into craters?”

“I didn't  fall _ in _ ,” the boy says, sounding almost insulted. “I just… fell.”

“I see.” Matteusz crosses over to him, and this close, it is impossible not to notice how pretty he is, his eyes dark, his frowning mouth pink like a cherry blossom, his skin pale and perfectly unblemished. “Were you looking for the star?”

The boy blinks at him.

“What?”

“We are in a crater, yes? A shooting star fell this way last night. You were looking for it?”

“No.” The boy shakes his head. “No, I wasn't… Don't you know?”

“Know what?”

The boy tilts his head and studies Matteusz.

“You aren't from Stormhold, are you?”

Matteusz shakes his head. 

“Poland,” he says.

“Poland,” the boy repeats, like he’s never heard the word before.

“Where are you from?” Matteusz asks. The boy half-smiles, something wistful in his face, and looks up.

“There,” he says, pointing. “I’m from up there.”

In the silent beat that follows, several things start to make sense.

“You are the star,” Matteusz says. The boy looks at him, expression perfectly serious.

“Yes,” he says.

“You fell from the sky.”

“I was attacked,” the star says. “There was no time to prepare.”

“I saw a shadow–” Matteusz starts, and the star nods.

“Shadowkin,” he says. “They’ve been hunting my people, taking us out of the sky.”

“Can you get back?”

The star looks at him like he hadn't even considered it.

“I don't know,” he says quietly. “No-one ever has.”

Matteusz watches him for a moment. There  _ is  _ something unearthly about him, now that Matteusz knows to look for it, and as he stares miserably down at the bottom of the crater in which he’d landed, Matteusz makes a decision.

“I will help you,” he says, and the star looks back up at him, startled. “If there is a way to return you to the sky, I will help you find it.”

“Why? What do you ask in return?”

Matteusz shrugs.

“Nothing,” he says. The star looks at him for a long while, and Matteusz lets him, speaking only once he seems satisfied. “I would like to know your name, though.”

The star seems surprised, but after a second, his mouth quirks into a small, pleased smile.

“Charlie,” he says. “I’m Charlie.”

Matteusz grins at him.

“Charlie,” he says, “it is good to meet you. Shall we get out of this crater?”

*

With some negotiation, Matteusz manages to help Charlie out of the crater. He finds, as they head back to the path, a stick that will make a serviceable crutch, and presents it to Charlie with a flourish, grinning when it makes him blush.

“Thank you,” he says as he situates it against his side.

“My pleasure,” Matteusz replies. “Will you be comfortable walking?”

Charlie nods, and to demonstrate, steps onto the path that will lead them further into the forest.

“It doesn't hurt much,” he says, “but I am tired.”

Matteusz looks up as they walk – between the trees, the sun is by now high in the sky.

“Do stars sleep during the day?” he asks, and Charlie nods again.

“I’m never up this late,” he confesses, “ but I didn't feel safe, sleeping down there.”

“The people who made you fall,” Matteusz says, “they will be looking for you?”

“The Shadowkin,” Charlie says, “yes, they’ll be searching for me. And I suspect witches, too.”

“Why?”

Charlie glances at him as if to see how serious he is.

“I forget you aren't from here,” he says, almost to himself, and then explains, “Witches have been known to kidnap stars, kill them, and cut out their hearts.”

Matteusz objects very strongly to the idea of someone cutting out Charlie’s heart.

“Why?” he asks, horror evident in his tone.

“It is said that the heart of a star can give you eternal life,” Charlie says. “Witches eat them so they can stay young forever.”

Matteusz is aware that he’s gaping.

“That is… horrible,” he manages eventually, and Charlie hums an agreement.

“Yes,” he says grimly. “Quite horrible.”

“The… Shadowkin, you called them? They do the same?”

Charlie shakes his head.

“Shadowkin have no interest in eternal life,” he says. “They’re a warrior race, their priority lies in conquest.”

“So why do they attack you?”

Charlie considers him, pausing.

“I probably shouldn't tell you,” he says. “I don't know anything about you.”

“True,” Matteusz allows, half-amused, “but I do not want to live forever, and I do not think I could cut out anyone’s heart. You are safe with me.”

“No, I didn't mean–” Charlie says, then starts over. “If you were going to hurt me, you wouldn't have helped me out of that crater.” He takes a breath, closes his eyes, and Matteusz waits for him to speak again. “Each star has a power, an ability inherent within them. It’s not something we use often – it’s not something most even talk about – but it exists. The Shadowkin attack stars because they know about it, and they know it can be weaponised.”

“Weaponised?”

Charlie looks at him.

“Have you ever seen a supernova?” he asks. Matteusz shakes his head. “Well, I have. Stars have enormous energy potential, and the Shadowkin want to use it. When they do whatever it is they do to unlock this power, the destruction is unbelievable. The star rarely survives.”

“They use stars like… like bombs,” says Matteusz, and Charlie nods.

“Yes,” he says. “They seek out the stars they think will cause the most damage. They knock us out of the sky, take us away and…  _ do  _ something to us, something that makes us into weapons. Then they point us at their enemies.”

He presents it matter-of-factly, but there is a tremble of emotion in his voice – fear, or anger, perhaps – that he cannot help. 

“They kill you for this,” Matteusz says. He can feel a slow, churning fury in his gut at the injustice of it. How many stars have already suffered this? How many more will?

“Yes.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not this time. You must get back to the sky before they find you.”

“Get back? How? It’s not exactly within walking distance.”

“We will find a way,” Matteusz promises. “These Shadowkin, they cannot win. If you return, they have lost.”

“For now, perhaps. But they won't be deterred,” says Charlie. “They’ve been coming after my people for years. There’s no stopping them.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But we must try.”

“Why would you help me?” Charlie asks. “It isn't your fight.”

“No. But if we each fought only for ourselves, the world would be bleak place. I will help get you home, Charlie.” He means it. He meets Charlie’s eyes intently, and does not look away until he is sure he believes him.

“Okay,” says Charlie. He swallows, then nods sharply. “Where do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback keeps writers from starvation, feel free to leave some. And as always, come find me on Tumblr - you know where.


	3. Chapter 3

They keep heading east. Matteusz doesn't think anyone in the market town he’s just come from will be able to offer them the help they need, and besides, he doesn’t like to think about how much something to bring Charlie home would cost in the strange barter system they use here. He shares some bread while he walks with Charlie on his left, limping with the help of his makeshift crutch, until he stops, and says Matteusz’s name.

“I’m sorry,” he says, when Matteusz turns back to him, brow furrowed. “I can’t keep going, I need to rest.”

It’s mid-afternoon. Matteusz looks, and it is obvious that Charlie is exhausted. He’s leaning more heavily on the branch than ever, and his skin is wan. He sways a little where he stands, and Matteusz curses himself for forgetting.

“Of course,” he says. He spies a tree with sprawling roots a short distance from the path, well-hidden, but not invisible. “Come, we will stop. I will keep watch while you sleep.”

Charlie gives him a tired, grateful smile, and follows Matteusz to the tree. Conscious of his injury, Matteusz helps him to the ground, and waits for him to get comfortable. He looks up from where he’s trying to settle in the crook of one of the thick roots, and frowns at Matteusz.

“Aren’t you tired?” he asks, and Matteusz has to smother a smile.

“No,” he says. “I slept all last night.”

“Oh.” Charlie is silent for a minute, and then, “Do all humans sleep at night?”

“You do not know?”

He smiles, a little embarrassed.

“I thought it was a myth,” he says. “I’m not usually around to watch the world, not like the other stars. I didn't realise it was so different down here.”

He picks a leaf up by the stem, and twists it between his fingers. Matteusz watches him – it’s endearing; it makes Matteusz suddenly want to show him everything the Earth has to offer, to see that soft and curious look on his face again. Then he remembers that this is Stormhold, and it's as foreign to him as it is to Charlie, maybe even more so. He hadn't thought witches were real until Charlie brought them up.

“You will have to tell me more about where you are from,” he says, and Charlie looks back at him, setting the leaf down. “Until today, I thought stars were just burning rocks, up there in the sky. You, I think, have more to teach me than I can teach you.”

“Burning rocks?” Charlie’s brow is furrowed. “Why would you think that?”

Matteusz shrugs.

“Is what everyone thinks, where I am from,” he says. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Charlie says, pushing himself more upright, leaning away from the tree. “Stars are nothing like that, we’ve got families, and, and politics, and–”

“Charlie,” Matteusz cuts him off, trying to hide his amusement. “Tell me more when you wake. We still have long way to go if we want to get you home.”

Charlie blinks, then seems to realise how animated he has become. He flushes slightly.

“Sorry,” he says. “You’re right. Are you sure you’re happy to keep watch?”

“Of course,” Matteusz replies, grinning. “I will be fearless protector.”

Charlie laughs softly, and the sound seems to surprise him. He glances at Matteusz from under his eyelashes, almost shy.

“I’ll see you when I wake up, then,” he says, and when Matteusz nods, he lies down and shifts onto his side, sighing into sleep. Matteusz watches his face relax, admiring the elegance of his features openly now that there is no fear of being caught staring. In sleep, Charlie looks like a fairytale prince, in need of a kiss to wake him. The sunlight, still bright, but diffused by the thick trees, lights gently on his face, as if it's as hesitant to disturb him as Matteusz finds himself. He turns away from his examination and watches the path for other travellers, shredding a leaf idly into pieces just to give his fingers something to do. Eventually, he takes the map out, and he’s still studying it when Charlie stirs next to him. It’s been only a few hours, but soon it will be too dark to keep travelling, and Matteusz will need to take a turn resting.

“Good evening,” he says, smirking over his shoulder at Charlie, who smiles back, stretching.

“I haven’t slept that well in a while,” he says. He moves until he’s sitting right next to Matteusz, their shoulders barely touching. “Did anything happen?”

“Nothing interesting,” Matteusz replies. “But I have been thinking about where we should go from here.”

The map, now that Matteusz has had a chance to look at it properly in the light, is actually far more detailed than he had first thought. There are handwritten notes in writing almost invisible – Matteusz has to squint to make them out, but they contain all kinds of useful information; whoever wrote them has included details of places in Stormhold where travellers can buy all manner of obscure wonders, things with strange names like Limbus grass, things that seem to do miracles. On the other side of the forest, and down to the coast, there's a portside town that the cartographer seems to recommend for its rare trading opportunities. Matteusz thinks it’s their best chance at finding something to get Charlie home. He explains this to Charlie, who listens with rapt attention. 

“What if no-one there can help me?” Charlie asks, when he’s finished.

“Then we will think of something else,” Matteusz says. “But I do not think this is a bad plan. Is a long way from here, but if we leave now, we will find out sooner.”

“But don’t you need to sleep now?” Charlie asks. “The stars will be out soon.”

Matteusz doesn't ask how he knows, but he says it without so much as a glance up at the darkening sky. 

“We will eat, first,” he says, “and then perhaps I will rest.”

Charlie accepts the compromise, and Matteusz digs once more into his sparse supplies – when they reach the next town, he will need to restock. He offers Charlie a large chunk of bread, and a few of the walnuts, and takes some himself. They share water from the emptying skin, and Matteusz thinks to keep an eye out for any clean water they pass. As the sun sets, the night grows colder, and Matteusz notices Charlie shivering slightly. He shrugs off his jacket, and passes it over.

“Here,” he says, “you are cold.”

Charlie gives him a strange look.

“Won’t you be cold without it?” he asks, and Matteusz shrugs.

“I am Polish,” he says. “We are made of sturdy stuff.”

He shakes the jacket pointedly, and Charlie reaches for it, and, hesitant, slides his arms into the sleeves – it is slightly large on him, so they hang down past his wrists. 

“Thank you,” he says, and Matteusz waves him off.

“You are welcome,” he says. “I will set a fire before I sleep, to keep you company.”

He starts at work, gathering a circle of stones, and handfuls of dry twigs and leaves. 

“Fire,” says Charlie, frowning as if he’s trying to remember something. “It’s a light, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Matteusz says. “And it is warm.”

He takes the matches out of his bag and strikes one, and he doesn't miss the way Charlie watches the flame dance on the end of it with pure and open wonder on his face. Matteusz sets the match to the kindling nestled in the stones, and sits back beside him.

“You do not have fire?” he asks, and Charlie shakes his head, transfixed by the twisting shapes the flames make. 

“We didn't need it,” he says, and nothing more. It is strange; something – the flickering light of the fire, perhaps, combined with the slow moonlight creeping over the sky – is illuminating him, shedding light so uniquely upon his skin that it seems itself almost to glow. It’s a stunning effect – Matteusz has to make a conscious effort not to gape, but Charlie doesn’t notice. “We weren’t exactly lacking in light, and it was warmer up there, anyway.”

“I always thought it would be cold,” Matteusz says, and Charlie shakes his head.

“No,” he says, wistful smile on his face, “not really.”

Matteusz wonders if he should say something comforting, but he can’t think what. He knows what it’s like to leave your home unwillingly, but at least he knows he can return one day. There’s only land and ocean keeping him from Poland – it’s not the same thing at all. Instead of speaking, he just brushes Charlie’s shoulder gently with his own. It’s a small gesture, but it makes Charlie smile.

“You should sleep,” he says. “I’m used to staying up all night, I’ll keep watch.”

“Wake me if you need to,” says Matteusz, “I will not mind.”

At Charlie’s nod, he settles down to sleep, letting the day go without reluctance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing in this world makes me happier than feedback - if you're enjoying this, say so!


	4. Chapter 4

He is woken some time later by Charlie’s soft hands shaking him, his quiet voice in his ear.

“Someone’s coming,” he says, and Matteusz pulls himself out of his drowsy confusion quickly. Wordlessly, he stands and stomps out the fire, then takes Charlie’s hand and leads him to crouch behind the wide trunk of the tree. Charlie, with his injury, can’t hold the position for long, so sits, his hurt leg sprawled out in front of him. Matteusz hopes the light is not bright enough to see them by – whatever it was that had been shining on Charlie’s skin earlier seems to have faded, at least.

They crouch there in the quiet, the only sound their breaths, and the rustling approach of the stranger on the path. He hasn’t dropped Charlie’s hand, but Charlie doesn't seem to mind. In the dark, Matteusz can just barely make out the shape of him, just the moonlight gilding the tense, silver line of his shoulders. He squeezes Charlie’s hand, and Charlie squeezes back.

The footsteps come slowly closer, and then stop suddenly, on the path before the tree. There’s nothing to indicate danger, not that he can see, but still there's a thick sense of it, like the air before a lightning strike. For a long moment, nothing, and then – Charlie cries out as a whip of oily, green-and-yellow light seizes him by the ankle, and starts to pull. His hand clutches at Matteusz’s, but as hard as he tries to hold on, he can't – Charlie is dragged from their hiding space, and lies captive at the feet of the stranger. Matteusz peers around the trunk as subtly as he can, knowing he can’t help Charlie if he is caught, too, and sees the stranger fully for the first time, lit by the glow of the strange tendril that holds Charlie, which appears to sprout from their hand. It’s a woman, he sees, in a mossy green gown. Her hair looks patchy under a dark hood, and her skin is heavily-wrinkled, but somehow he knows she’s anything but fragile. She’s looking down at Charlie with an uncomfortably predatory gleam in her eyes, and Matteusz remembers what he had said about witches.

“You’re a long way from home, little prince,” she says, and Matteusz sees Charlie flinch. “Good news for me, I think.”

She crouches to his level, and it's a surprisingly agile movement for someone of her apparent age.

“Let me look at you,” she says. Charlie tries to shift away from her, but with an easy tug, she brings him back, and he hisses at the careless treatment of his injured limb. “Oh, is he hurt?” 

She leans back just far enough to see his leg, and with her spare hand, points towards it. The same sickly light spurts out of her finger and wraps itself around Charlie, but this time, it dissipates fairly quickly.

“There,” she says, “a last favour for you.”

“What did you do?” Charlie asks, and Matteusz is proud of him for the way his voice barely trembles.

“I healed you,” she replies. “You’re a dim little thing, but I’ve no time to fix that – and you’d be surprised how much a quick recovery can bolster the spirits. Your heart is hardly fit for the eating, little prince, but a weak heart at full health is better than a wounded one. The Shadowkin get their hands on you far quicker than I’d like these days, so beggars can’t be choosers.”

When she mentions eating Charlie’s heart, a shiver goes all through Matteusz’s body, and he starts to think quickly. The forest here is still dense with trees, and the witch hasn’t seen him yet – if he can get behind her, he can help. He starts to move as carefully as possible over the leaf-strewn floor while she continues talking to Charlie.

“Imagine my surprise when I came across that crater and found you, shining like anything, not a day’s travel from it!” she says. “And all alone, poor thing.”

Matteusz hefts the thick branch he’s chosen over his head, and brings it crashing down on the witch, who, with a shriek, crumples, the light that ties Charlie to her crackling into a furious nothing.

“He is not alone,” Matteusz says. He’s still holding the branch, but the witch doesn't move, even when he nudges at her body with his boot – she’s totally unconscious. He glances at Charlie. “Are you okay?”

Charlie nods very shakily, still watching the witch. Matteusz drops the branch, and helps him stand.

“We should move her,” he says. “Tie her up, or something, so she cannot follow.”

Charlie nods again, then helps Matteusz move her still body until it rests upright against the tree. Searching through the witch’s things in the satchel she had been wearing under her cloak, Charlie finds a length of strange silver chain, and when they try to use it to bind the witch to the tree, it expands and expands to the length they need, then seals itself together so she cannot escape.

“Useful,” Matteusz says. When Charlie doesn’t respond, he looks over at him, and sees the wicked, red-veined blade he’s holding. Matteusz doesn’t need to ask to know what the witch would have used it for. He’s about to say something when he notices the witch beginning to stir.

“Charlie,” he says, and Charlie looks up from the knife and comes to his side.

“What do we do?” he asks.

“We could ask her what she knows about helping you,” Matteusz suggests. “She might have powers we can use.”

“Why would she help us? We’re not exactly friends.”

The witch comes round to full wakefulness before Matteusz can reply. Her gaze flicks from Charlie to Matteusz and back again, and she flexes against the chain holding her in place.

“Don’t try to escape,” says Charlie, with an authority in his voice Matteusz hasn’t heard before.

“If you knew anything about this world, prince, you’d know that I couldn’t. There’s very few things can cut through this, and my magic isn’t one of them. Well done, I’m completely at your mercy,” the witch says scathingly. Matteusz glances at Charlie.

“Why does she keep calling you prince?” he asks quietly. Charlie looks pained, but instead of answering the question, crouches over the witch’s bound body.

“How do you know who I am?” he asks, and the meaning of it rocks through Matteusz. It is no nickname or derision the witch has been using, but Charlie’s proper title. Charlie is a prince. Matteusz stares at him, trying to process.

“You think we witches don’t listen?” the witch says. “You think we cannot hear you whisper? Foolishness. Some of us dedicate our lives to study of the stars! I have been watching that sky for centuries, and you expect I will not know when the beloved prince goes missing?” She scoffs. “You know nothing.”

Charlie’s face has gone hard, his gaze steely. Matteusz wonders if it is the reminder of his people, of his true place among them, that has done it.

“Do you?” he asks. “Do you know how I can get back?”

The witch cackles.

“No star ever gets back,” she says. “You’ll rot down here until one of the others finds you and gobbles you up, else the Shadowkin will get you. Either way, you can’t go back. No Babylon candles to get the poor prince home, not anymore.”

Matteusz doesn’t know what a Babylon candle is, but from the flicker of Charlie’s face, it seems he does. 

“Who are you?” he asks, and the witch sneers up at him.

“You aren’t any royalty to me,” she says. “I won’t give you my name.”

Almost too quickly for Matteusz to see it, Charlie has the knife against her throat.

“I won’t ask again,” he says, and there’s a cold darkness in his voice that gives Matteusz the sensation of ice water down his spine. His gaze turns wary, but he does not intervene. 

The witch looks down at the knife, and then at Charlie’s face, and whatever she sees there is convincing enough that she spits out, “Lankin, I am Lankin.”

“Lankin,” Charlie repeats, in a tone that promises he won’t forget it. “Come after me or any other star again, and I will find you.”

And just like that, it’s over. Charlie seizes up the witch's bag and slings it across his shoulder, and then he’s marching determinedly back to the path. Matteusz has to jog to catch up to him.

“I’ve got to get rid of the knife,” he says, when Matteusz falls into step beside him. “Destroy it, somehow. Throw it into the ocean.”

“It is our only weapon,” Matteusz points out, instead of asking one of the million questions on his mind, like how Charlie’s leg was healed, what it means that he’s a prince, or whether he really would have slit Lankin’s throat. Charlie looks at him, then thrusts the knife out to him.

“You take it, then,” he says. “I don’t want it, I know what it’s done.”

Matteusz takes the knife gently from Charlie’s grip, and notices that he’s shaking. Adrenaline. He makes a show of putting the knife well away in the bottom of his bag, and when it looks like Charlie is going to keep walking, catches him loosely by the elbow.

“Charlie,” he says, “maybe we should slow down.”   
  
He doesn’t like the thick edge of panic in Charlie’s eyes. He leads them a little further up the path, until Lankin is well out-of-sight, and guides Charlie down. The trees are thinner here, the moonlight shows on the ground a little more brightly, and Charlie folds his knees up against his chest and rubs a hand over his mouth, looking everywhere but at Matteusz, who sits down slowly opposite him.

“Are you okay?” 

Charlie chews his thumbnail. His eyes dart finally to Matteusz, and then he clasps his hands together over his knees. 

“Not really,” he says. “She – she’s killed stars before, Matteusz. My people.”

“Your people,” Matteusz repeats. “You were a prince.”

“I  _ am  _ a prince,” Charlie says. “It doesn’t stop just because I’m not there anymore, I’m still responsible.”

“Charlie,” Matteusz says softly, trying to be comforting. “It’s not your fault. She will not hurt anyone else, because of you.”

“Until she gets free,” he responds. “She won’t stay there forever. What then?”

Matteusz doesn’t have a good answer for him.

“What do you want to do?” he asks, watching Charlie’s face closely. His eyes flick quickly back to the tree line where they've left Lankin, to the bag where the knife is hidden, to Matteusz’s carefully blank expression, and then finally, they close on a deep sigh.

“Let’s keep walking,” he says, and Matteusz obliges, silently relieved, offering Charlie his hand as he stands. They walk.


	5. Chapter 5

“So, you are a prince?” Matteusz is balancing on a fallen tree trunk, arms stretched out to keep his balance, and Charlie is watching him in amusement. The sky is thick with stars above them, lighting Charlie up with the same slight glowing aura as before.

“Yes,” he says. “That's why the Shadowkin targeted me. They’ve been working towards my constellation for months.” He stops and points upwards, and Matteusz follows the line of his finger to a cluster of stars just beside the full moon.

“There they are,” he says. “The Royal Court.”

“Your parents?” Matteusz asks, and Charlie nods, smiling sadly.

“The King and Queen of all the stars,” he says. “I’m the only heir. I suppose if I don't get back, they'll have to choose someone else.”

“You will get back, Charlie.” Matteusz jumps down from the log, and stands at Charlie’s side. He takes his hand. “Let us keep moving.”

“Okay,” Charlie is quiet for a while, and they walk in silence, hand-in-hand through the trees in the moonlight. Charlie’s skin is cool where their palms meet, and so pale it almost shines. “Matteusz?”

“Yes?”

“What’s Poland like?”

“Is… very different to here,” Matteusz says. “My parents moved us to England for my father to work, but I miss my country.”

“Will you go back?”

“I would like to,” he admits quietly, “but I do not know.”

“Were you happy there?” Charlie asks, and Matteusz thinks about it.

“I was not unhappy,” he says eventually. “I am happier then than now, in England. In Poland, I was not so afraid to be who I was. In England, already I am a freak, because of where I come from, how I talk.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the way you talk,” Charlie says, frowning, and it makes Matteusz laugh, just a little.

“Thank you,” he says. “Not everyone thinks the same.”

They walk on in silence for a moment, and then Matteusz asks, “What about you? Were you happy, up in the sky?”

“Where I come from,” Charlie says, “I had to pretend happiness even if I didn’t feel it. Especially when I didn't feel it.” His voice takes on a prim, mocking tone, his mouth a wry twist. “It wouldn’t do for the prince to show malcontent. It would make people lose confidence in us.”

“I am sorry,” says Matteusz, meaning it. He can’t imagine the pressure of an entire kingdom pushing at his back. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Charlie says, “I am grateful for what I was given. I had the best tutors, the most protection. But I think, like you, I could never be myself up there, not really. If it wasn't a speech or a ceremony, it was a feast or a dance, or a meeting with some nobleman’s daughter I had no intention of marrying.”

The way he says it,  _ no intention _ , makes Matteusz wonder, makes him want to ask. But he doesn’t.

“I never met a prince before,” he says instead, and Charlie laughs.

“We’re just like everyone else,” he says. “That's the secret.”

*

As the sun comes up, they stop again by a cold-running stream, where Matteusz refills the water skin and Charlie sleeps for a few more hours. They polish off the last of Matteusz’s food, but they should be out of the woods before the day’s end, so he isn’t too worried. The sunlight, watery yellow and dappled through the leaves, doesn't illuminate Charlie in quite the same way, but Matteusz notices, nonetheless, that his skin seems to shine in a way that’s not human at all; it isn't the sun or the moon that does it to him – it’s just him.

“Charlie,” he says, “you are glowing.”

Charlie’s brow furrows, then clears. He flushes slightly.

“I’m a  _ star _ ,” he says, a touch defensive. “It’s what we do.”

“All the time?”

“No, it’s like what the witch said – stars are brightest when we’re happy, and healthy. A star in pain or fear will barely shine at all.”

He’s avoiding Matteusz’s eyes while Matteusz looks at him, and Matteusz feels himself starting to grin.

“You are happy now?” he asks, and Charlie’s flush deepens, but he doesn't duck the question.

“Aren't you?” he says. Matteusz just grins wider.

*

Charlie, under the provision that he won't let himself be caught by any more witches, convinces Matteusz to stop and sleep for a while after noon. He isn’t as tired as he might be, but Charlie had looked so earnest suggesting it, giving him back his jacket to use for a pillow, that it would have been criminal not to humour him. He’s surprised by how quickly sleep takes him, but he drifts off easily listening to Charlie’s idle humming.

He dreams of the night, the sky spinning, electric with stars, above him. In the dream, he looks to his left and Charlie is sleeping, too, the shine off his skin brighter than Matteusz has seen it before. He watches him only for a moment, but when he looks back up, there’s a woman standing in front of him – except she’s not just a woman. By the glow of her skin and the silver dress she’s wearing, the same material as Charlie’s shirt, she’s another star.

“Hello,” Matteusz says. She stares down at him with something untouchable in her gaze, something that tells Matteusz he’s so far beneath her notice he barely registers. Her eyes flick to Charlie’s still-sleeping form and back.

“Matteusz,” she says. The pronunciation of his name is strange on her tongue, like she has to work for it to come out right.

“Who are you?” Matteusz says, frowning. He pushes himself upright, standing between the woman and Charlie.

“It matters not who I am,” she  replies.

Matteusz is inclined to disagree, but he doesn't think saying so will do him any favours with this woman.

“So what do you want?” he asks, and again, her eyes find Charlie – but this time, they linger. “If you are here to hurt him–”

“Don't be absurd,” she says, and for the first time, there's a hint of real feeling in her voice. Realisation comes all at once, and Matteusz regards the illuminated shape of her with new eyes.

“He is your son,” he says. 

“He is our prince,” she corrects, harshly, tearing her eyes away from Charlie. “For our people, you must protect him. There are others out here, far worse than what you have faced so far. He must be protected, for our people’s sake.”

“And not for yours?” Matteusz asks, folding his arms. “You are his mother – you do not care what happens to him for yourself?”

She fixes him with a look so sharp and glaring that he almost regrets asking – almost, but not quite. He meets her narrowed gaze with his spine straight.

“Before I am his mother, I am the queen,” she says, “and you must protect him for the crown he inherits.”

Matteusz had forgotten why he thoughts stars would be cold. Charlie’s mother makes him remember.

“No,” he says, and is surprised by how fiercely he means it, “I will protect him because he is Charlie.”

She looks furious, and he is preparing himself for a tirade when he feels himself being shaken gently awake by Charlie, and she fades away. He opens his eyes, and Charlie’s smiling face, the aura of starlight he’s glowing with, is the first thing he sees. He doesn't resemble his mother much at all.

“I thought we’d best keep going,” Charlie says. “The light won’t last much longer, but we can make it to the edge of the forest before night falls.”

Matteusz sits up, shakes himself out of slumber slowly and pulls on his jacket.

“Okay,” he says. Charlie frowns at him.

“Are you alright?” he says. “You look… strange.”

Matteusz thinks about telling him, and then remembers that not once since they’ve met has Charlie mentioned his mother with anything like longing. He doesn’t miss her, and Matteusz thinks, having met her, he might understand why.

“Is nothing,” he says, “I had strange dreams.”

He smiles, and Charlie cocks his head.

“Dreams?” he asks. Matteusz frowns.

“Do stars not dream?”

“What would a star dream of?” Charlie says.  

“The same things humans do,” Matteusz says. Charlie considers him, and then nods, almost to himself.

“I see,” he says quietly. Matteusz waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t say anything more.

“Shall we go?” Matteusz asks, and Charlie nods again. They climb to their feet and rejoin the path. While they walk, Charlie tells Matteusz more about the palace he’d grown up in, and in return, Matteusz tells him about the distant family he’d left in Poland, the house he used to live in with the apple tree in the garden that he’d climbed and fallen out of a hundred times as a child. Before long, the late afternoon light gets brighter between the trees, until it almost eclipses the growing shine of Charlie’s skin, and they realise they’re almost out of the shelter of the forest. The land slopes beyond the edge of the trees, a worn, muddy path carving a line down to the slim coast at the bottom, and as they’re walking towards it, Matteusz turns to Charlie.

“You know, neither of us has seen the world behind these trees,” he says. Charlie looks at him, and then, decisively, takes his hand.

“Well then,” he says, “I suppose we’ll have to face it together.”

Matteusz looks down at their joint hands, then up at Charlie’s face, and smiles. They take their first steps out of the forest – and find themselves surrounded on all sides by the points of swords. Charlie’s glow dims instantly. Matteusz squeezes his hand as he scans the group in front of them; they're a ramshackle lot, in dark clothes that are dirty and well-worn, and the one Matteusz takes for their leader has a curious clockwork prosthetic where his right leg ends at the knee. He approaches them with surprising surety of foot, sword levelled at Matteusz’s throat.

“Well well well,” he says, smirking, “what do we have here?”


	6. Chapter 6

Matteusz swallows, and the bob of his throat nearly touches the sword tip.

“I think,” he says slowly, “there has been a misunderstanding.”

He drops Charlie’s hand as, at a nod from the leader, one of the other attackers lifts his bag away from his body, and starts rooting through it.  

“Unlikely, mate,” says the leader. “You ain’t who we’re looking for, but you’re an idiot if you think we’re letting you go before we find out who you are instead.”

“Ram!” the ambusher with Matteusz’s bag calls, and they all look over as he fishes Lankin’s long knife out of it. Ram – which must be the name of the leader – turns back to Mattuesz, eyebrows raised.

“...That’s not mine,” Matteusz says. 

“I know that, dipshit,” Ram says. “How did you get it?”

“You know whose knife that is?” Matteusz asks, mind working furiously. If these people are friends of Lankin, they’re in worse trouble than he’d thought – he resists the urge to look at Charlie.

“Yeah, I know whose knife it is. Now, answer the question.” Ram pushes forward with the sword pointedly, almost nicking the skin of Matteusz’s throat. Matteusz keeps his silence. If he tells Ram and the others about what had happened to Lankin, they might guess at Charlie’s identity, and that’s the last thing he wants. Ram narrows his eyes at him when he sees that he isn’t going to talk.

“You wanna think  _ really hard _ about whether you want to do this,” he says. He tilts the sword so that the dying sunlight glints off the blade. “I don’t carry this thing around for show, yeah?”

Matteusz doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t know if Ram will really use his weapon the way he’s threatening to; he doesn’t look any older than they are, but Stormhold isn’t like Wall  – maybe teenagers always go around killing each other here. He holds Ram’s gaze unwaveringly, and everything else is tense and silent, until  – 

“We were attacked,” Charlie says suddenly. When they turn to him, he’s looking anxiously between Ram and Matteusz, eyes wide. Matteusz frowns at him, trying to tell him without words to keep quiet, but he ignores him. “In the forest, we were attacked by a witch.”

“What did she want with  _ you _ ?” Ram asks, his attention diverted, and Charlie’s gaze flicks to Matteusz and away again. 

“I don’t know,” he says, avoiding Ram’s eyes. “We overpowered her and took her knife.”

“She’s dead?” He tries to hide it, but Ram’s tone is almost hopeful  – Mattuesz files that away for later. Charlie shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “She had something in her bag, a chain  – we left her tied to a tree.”

Ram nods towards the others in his group, and two of them come forward. 

“Find out if he’s telling the truth. If she’s still alive, you know what to do,” Ram says, and they head off into the forest. He looks back at Charlie. “You best be telling the truth. I really hate being lied to.”

He lowers his sword slightly, but keeps it pointing in Matteusz’s direction, and they wait for the others to return. Eventually, they do  – one nods to Ram, and he considers Matteusz and Charlie again, tilting his head.

“See, that’s interesting,” he says, “‘cos now I’m wondering how two people like you, who look like you’ve never handled a weapon in your lives, managed to overcome one of the most infamous witches in Stormhold.”

“I suppose we were lucky,” says Matteusz drily, and Ram smiles without humour.

“Well, I’m afraid your luck’s run out,” he says. “You’re coming with us. The captain will want to meet you.”

Charlie shoots Matteusz a worried look, but they cannot do anything but follow Ram as he turns back down the path.   
  
“Make sure you bring the bag and the knife,” he says to one of his followers. “Tanya might get a good price for that map.”

*

Unseen from the top of the hill, and anchored in the sea of the small crescent beach, there’s a mighty galleon, all polished wood – but instead of sails, it boasts a massive blimp, secured with strong rope to the deck. Matteusz gapes up at it when Ram leads them out onto the sand. They board the ship from a long ramp that’s been lowered, and once they’re on board, Ram lifts a cast iron grate in the middle of the deck, revealing the dark hold beneath it.

“In you go then,” he says, gesturing, “Captain’s not back yet, so you’ll have to wait here.”

The insistent crew of swords at their backs makes them helpless to do anything but obey. The space below the deck is small and dim, lit only by a sparse few candles. There are scattered crates, whose contents Matteusz can only guess at, and he takes a seat on one and looks back up to the grate where Ram is leaning down to look at them. He grins and gives a mocking way as the grate slams closed, the draught its movement causes making the candles flicker. 

Matteusz looks at Charlie, who’s is looking around the small space with the beginnings of panic in his eyes. There’s no light coming off his skin now. 

“Matteusz,” he says, “Matteusz, we need to get out of here.” 

“It will be okay, Charlie,” Matteusz says, approaching him and putting on his most calming tone. “We will explain to this captain, maybe they will let us go. And if they do not, we will find another way.”

Charlie shakes his head, but not quite in disagreement – the movement is jerky, erratic, like Charlie is trying to rid himself of a thought or an errant wasp. His eyes are squeezed closed, and when Matteusz comes near, he reaches blindly for him and tangles his fingers in his shirt. Matteusz frowns and gently cups his elbow, his thumb running light lines over the fabric.

“What is wrong?” he asks quietly. He hesitates, and then, with a surety he doesn't know he feels, moves his other hand to the back of Charlie’s neck. Charlie huffs a little breath, then another.

“I can't –” he tries, “I can’t erm, breathe, I can’t breathe in this space, Matteusz, my heart –”

Matteusz lets go of Charlie’s elbow and places his palm flat against his chest. His heart is beating furiously, thunderously under his skin, and when Matteusz looks, he’s pale and trembling, cold sweat on his brow. His breathing is still fast and erratic, just tiny gasps of breath that make his chest rise and fall unevenly under Matteusz’s hand.

“Charlie,” Matteusz says, in the same quiet tone, as soothing as he can manage. “Open your eyes, Charlie, look at me.”

Charlie does, though it takes him a moment to focus, his gaze darting everywhere before he lets it be drawn back to meet Matteusz’s.

“Good,” says Matteusz, “good, Charlie.” He taps his thumb lightly against Charlie’s collarbone where it sits. “Now, we are going to breathe together, okay? Watch me, copy my breathing.”

Charlie gives a shaky nod, his gaze unblinking on Matteusz’s face. Matteusz slows his breathing, and Charlie follows his lead, in and out until his heart starts to slow beneath Matteusz’s palm. His fingers relax the death grip they have on Matteusz’s shirt as he starts to come down from the attack

“There,” says Matteusz, “you’re okay.”

His thumb brushes absently against the soft skin of Charlie’s neck. 

“Thank you,” Charlie breathes. “I’ve never been in a space as small as this before. It felt – suffocating.”

Matteusz’s thoughts turn very uncharitably on Ram. 

“We will be out soon,” he says. He drops his hand from Charlie’s chest and picks up his hand instead, squeezing. “Do not worry.”

He leads Charlie back to the crate he’d been sitting on, and they sit beside each other, hands still entwined. Charlie rubs his thumb in slow arcs over Matteusz’s skin, like he’s trying to return the comfort Matteusz had just given him. Or maybe he’s just trying to keep himself calm.

“Tell me more about the stars,” Matteusz says, to distract him, and he frowns.

“There’s not much else to tell,” he says. “I spent all of my time locked up in the palace, holding court, trying to learn from my parents. Life down here always sounded so much more interesting.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know…” Charlie gestures meaninglessly with his free hand. “People having grand adventures. People falling in love.”

“People do not fall in love where you come from?” 

Charlie shakes his head. Matteusz isn’t sure why he finds this so disappointing.

“Not in the same way,” he says. “Love, for most stars is… it’s a practical term. It’s something you choose, something you plan for. It’s not something that happens to you. There are no great romances, where I come from.”

“I have never been in love,” Matteusz says softly, “but if I were, I would want it to be a great romance.”

“Me, too,” Charlie admits, just as quietly, and they just look at each other for a moment in the low and flickering candlelight, until they hear a commotion from the deck above them.

“– honestly Ram, I leave the ship for a few hours and you bring back captives! We have a schedule to stick to, Tanya is expecting us soon  –”

“I know, Captain, but you’re gonna want to meet these two.” 

As the voices approach the grate, Matteusz and Charlie stand, slow and wary. Shadows move over the gaps between the iron bars, then the grate is lifted away and a young woman with dark brown hair is kneeling, looking down into the hole with a frown on her face.

“Teenage boys,” she says. Ram’s face joins hers as he kneels beside her. “Why are there two teenage boys in my cargo hold?”

“Hello,” says Matteusz. “Can you let us out?”

“Please,” adds Charlie.


	7. Chapter 7

The captain orders Ram to let them out, and a ladder is lowered for them to climb. They do – Matteusz goes first, and gives Charlie a hand when he reaches the top. The captain turns to Ram.

“Explain,” she says. 

“April, these two came out of the forest where Tanya said Lankin would be,” Ram says, “and they had her knife.”

One of April’s eyebrows goes up. 

“They knocked her out and tied her up,” Ram continues. “I sent someone to check, finish the job, and they were telling the truth.”

“Quill’s going to be furious you stole her contract from her,” April tells him.

“Who cares about Quill? Don’t you want to ask these guys how they managed to get away from Lankin alive?”

April turns to Matteusz and Charlie, and smiles. She’s remarkably pretty, but Matteusz can just see the top few centimetres of a long scar peeking out of her collar.

“I’m April,” she says. “You’ve met my first mate, Ram. Who are you?”

“Matteusz,” says Matteusz, “and Charlie. We do not want to cause any trouble.”

“It’s nice to meet both of you,” April says. “Where are you going?”

“We’re looking for a trading post in the next port town. It was only coincidence that we ran into your friend in the woods.”

Ram scoffs. 

“Yeah, right,” he says. 

April’s smile twists slightly.

“Lankin was no friend of ours,” she says, “but it sounds like we’re all going the same way. We can offer you safe passage until the port, if you’d like. It’s faster than walking.”

Matteusz eyes her warily. There’s no way of knowing whether or not she can be trusted – she seems nicer than Ram, at least, but this is Faerie – probably, few things are as they seem. Charlie surprises him by speaking up before he can.

“A lift would be good,” he says, and when Matteusz glances at him in surprise, only shakes his head minutely. April grins.

“Great,” she says. “Let me show you around the ship. Ram, hoist anchor, if you would. The wind’s good today.”

Ram looks like he’s going to protest, perhaps at the thought of leaving his captain alone with the two of them, but at her pointed look, scowls and obeys, yelling orders to the other crewmates.

“Come on,” says April. “I’ll show you my cabin first.”

She leads them to the stern of the ship, and they descend a few stairs before they reach the doors to April’s cabin. It’s an oval-shaped room, the walls lined with books. A music stand and violin rest innocuously in the corner, and surprisingly, a piano occupies the space immediately to the left of the doors. She catches them looking at it, and smiles.

“We had some trouble fitting that together in here,” she says, “but I love music. I didn't want to leave it behind.”

“It’s lovely,” Charlie says. “I used to play something like it, back home.”

Matteusz catches his eye, surprised again, and he gives a modest shrug, blushing slightly. It makes sense, he supposes – the education of a prince must be fairly well-rounded.

There’s a desk before them with two chairs in front of it, and April leans against it, folding her arms across her chest.

“And where is home, Charlie?” she asks, and immediately, Matteusz tenses. The atmosphere of casual friendliness April had been cultivating all but evaporates – Charlie takes a step away from her. “If you are who I think you are, you’re a long way from it.”

Charlie says nothing, but he’s pale again. Matteusz moves to stand by him, planting himself just a step in front, and April smiles, ducks her head and shakes it reassuringly.

“Don’t worry,” she says, looking up again. “I’m no witch. No-one on this ship will hurt you unless you give them a reason to, and somehow I don’t think you’re going to. Sorry for all the rough handling – the crew have certain expectations, and you  _ are  _ strangers.”

“What are you going to do?” Charlie asks.

“I’m going to do what I said I would, if you’ll still let me. The trading post you’re going to – we know the owner. She’s the one who told us where Lankin would be. She’ll want to meet the people who helped to bring her down, and if she can help you, she will.”

Against his better judgment, Matteusz believes her. She seems sincere, looking between the two of them like she actually  _ does  _ want to help. He relaxes, marginally.

“Let me get some food, find Ram, and the two of you can tell me how you came to be here,” April says, pushing off from the desk. “I’ve heard rumours, but I’d rather hear your version.”

“Okay,” says Charlie, and April gives him a brilliant smile on her way out. Once she’s gone, he exchanges a look with Matteusz. “What do you think?”

“I think we can trust her,” he answers honestly, “and if we can get to this… shopkeeper, or whoever they are, more quickly, you can go home.”

“Yes,” Charlie says. He’s giving Matteusz a curious look, and he half-smiles, but it’s cheerless. “Home…”

Matteusz frowns, and  is about to ask him what’s wrong, when he hears April returning – with what sounds like Ram berating her just behind.

“You can’t just trust anyone you feel like, April. These guys could be dangerous!” 

“Oh come  _ on _ Ram, don’t you trust my instincts by now?” April says, pushing open the door. To Charlie and Matteusz, she adds, “Sorry about him. He’s just annoyed that you got to Lankin before he could.”

“That’s not true,” Ram objects, and April rolls her eyes as she takes her seat behind the desk. Ram’s carrying a loaf of bread, a flask of apple juice and a block of cheese, and he dumps them on the desk before turning to glare at Charlie and Matteusz.

“Sit down, Ram,” April says, and he sighs, and perches on the edge of the desk. “You guys too, if you like.”

Charlie takes a seat opposite April, and Matteusz follows his lead.

“Hope you don’t mind, I’m starving,” April says, helping herself to the bread. She takes a short knife out of her belt and carves herself some cheese to go with it. “Charlie, tell us what happened when you fell.”

Ram startles, almost losing his balance.

“He’s a star?!” he says. “When were you gonna tell me?”

“You would have worked it out eventually,” April says. “Go on, Charlie.”

Charlie looks at Matteusz before he starts to speak, for reassurance, or maybe just to remember he isn’t alone. He swallows, and then begins his story.

“You know about the Shadowkin?” he says, and April and Ram exchange a dark look with each other before they both nod. “They’ve been using stars to… well, they’ve been using stars as weapons. I don’t know what they’re planning, but they’ve been using stars for whatever it is. They attacked me, brought me down here. If it hadn’t been for Matteusz, they probably would have found me where I fell.”

“We are coming east to see if we can get Charlie home,” Matteusz interjects. “We hoped your friend might know how to help.”

“No star’s ever gone back, not since way back during the days when you could still find Babylon candles around,” says Ram, frowning. 

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t a way,” April adds gently, nudging Ram with her elbow. “Just that we don’t know about it.”

“Well, whether I can get back or not, that’s the whole story,” says Charlie. “We’ve been walking for the past few days – Lankin recognised me in the woods, that’s why she attacked.”

“We would appreciate any help you can give,” Matteusz says. “I do not know these Shadowkin, but I think we should not wait for them to find us. From what Charlie has told me, the stars they capture do not return alive.”  

“Now, hold on,” Ram says. “I lost my leg, fighting the Shadowkin. I saw people die, good people, people who didn't deserve it. So when I say I know what they’re capable of, you’d better believe me. You say there’s even a chance they can use him as a weapon? I don't want him on my ship.”

Matteusz glares at him. He’s about to snap a response, but April beats him to it.

“Except it’s not just your ship, is it, Ram,” she says.

“April–”

“They need help. Why shouldn't we give it?”

“We don’t owe them anything,” Ram says sourly, and April smiles.

“No,” she says, “but sometimes there are other reasons for kindness. And anyone who’s an enemy of the Shadowkin is a friend of ours, don’t you think?”

“You’re the captain, Captain,” Ram says resignedly. “Shall I go and check on the crew?”

April smile widens. 

“Yes, please,” she says, and as he walks to the door, “and Ram?”

He turns back expectantly.

“Thank you for trusting me on this,” she says sincerely. He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t quite turn away in time to hide his small smile. They watch him leave, and then turn back to April.

“Ram’s suffered more than most because of those monsters,” she tells them. “He has his reasons for the way he is.”

“What happened?” Charlie asks, and April’s smiles turns sad.

“You should ask him,” she says. “He doesn’t like me to talk about it. But let’s not think about that anymore. Come out onto the deck – I think you'll enjoy this.”

They follow her back up to the deck where the crew is in full swing, preparing to depart. The tall blimp looms full above them, ready to catch the wind, and April gestures them to the stern of the ship, where skeletal frames are unfurled, strange horizontal things more like fins or wings than true sails. The blimp’s propellers start slowly to move, and suddenly, the ship lifts out of the water – and keeps sailing, onwards and upwards. The sea disappears beneath them, the coast shrinking away, and a laugh is startled out of Matteusz as he looks down over the edge. He catches Charlie’s eye and grins, and Charlie smiles back, looking enchanted.

“Alright, everyone,” April calls, and the crew turn to listen to her. “We want to make Tanya’s port within the week, but there’s a good storm on our way and we’ll be riding right through it. You know what to do.”

They give varying calls of consent, and get back to their tasks with Ram at the wheel supervising. April steps over to Charlie and Matteusz.

“I’ll find you some fresh clothes,” she says. “I’m sure Ram won't mind you borrowing. And there’s still food below decks. Help me finish it off?”  
  
Matteusz takes one last look at the winking sea below them as they ascend into the clouds, and then he and Charlie follow April down once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gutted to hear that the BBC have cancelled this weird and beautiful little show, so updates will be bittersweet for me from here on out. I hope the fandom survives, even if the show doesn't. 
> 
> Decided to upload two chapters at once, since I didn't do any over the weekend.


	8. Chapter 8

April unearths clothes that are old but clean, and markedly less well worn that those she and her crew are wearing. For Charlie, there's a deep blue shirt that sets off his fair skin beautifully, and for Matteusz, a fresh white shirt, and a cream-coloured jacket to go with it – this one with all its buttons attached. April even finds a bootlace to replace the one he’d traded in at the market.

“There,” she says, when they've finished changing, “much more presentable.”

“Thank you, April,” Charlie says, and she smiles.

“You’re both welcome.”

They sit in her cabin and eat what’s left of the food Ram had brought down, and after a time, she returns to the deck to oversee her crew. Matteusz and Charlie sit, and through the vast windows that make the back wall, they watch twilit land, sea and cloud pass under them.

“This is the view I’m used to,” says Charlie. He stands and approaches the window. “We’re a long way up.”

Matteusz joins him, and though the view is stunning, he is more interested in the soft smile on Charlie’s face. He’s got some of his glow back.

“Is very beautiful,” he says, and Charlie hums agreement. “You must miss it.”

Charlie makes a soft noise that might be a laugh.

“I should, shouldn't I?” he says, neglecting the view in order to look at Matteusz. “I should miss it more than I do.”

Before Matteusz can ask him what he means, April reappears, two slick and heavy waterproof coats slung over her arm.

“Sorry,” she says, taking in the way they’re standing, clearly feeling like an intruder. “I thought you might want to help us with the storm.”

“Storm?” Charlie asks. “What do you mean?”

“Come and see,” April says. She gives them each one of the coats as they pass her. “You’ll need these.”

The deck is lit with yellow lanterns to break up the dark just-fallen night, and as they stand staring, the bow of the ship breaks into a bellowing tempest – and suddenly around them, above and below, black clouds roil and thunder. It’s raining, hard – Matteusz pulls the hood of his coat over his head, then reaches over and pulls Charlie’s up, too; he doesn’t know whether the concept of rain is something he’s too familiar with. April strides right past them, apparently unbothered by the downpour, and starts yelling orders at the crew. Ram must be out there somewhere, but the rain is too heavy to make out individuals.

“What are they doing?” Charlie calls over the crack of thunder, and Matteusz shrugs.

“I have no idea!” he calls back. He may be human, but flying ships that sail through storms are something Stormhold-specific, he thinks. He is as clueless as Charlie.

April is holding some kind of long flask or canister, and she holds it up to the sky, wet hair flying about her face. Lightning flashes, illuminating her bright and wild grin, and somehow, she catches it with a shout of victory – wrestles with it, struggling to keep her ground, and then conducts it straight into the cylinder and holds it until it burns itself out, crackling furiously. She snaps the clasp closed and tosses it to a crewman.

“Check those nets!” she orders, and people scurry to obey. She makes her way back to Matteusz and Charlie, sloshing across the drowned deck, her hair dripping madly. 

“We’re catching lightning!” she says. 

“What for?” Matteusz asks, struggling to make himself heard over the sounds of the storm. 

“It sells!” she answers. “Be careful you don’t get hit by any stray bolts!”

Even as she warns them, a blinding fork of lightning crashes across the sky. Matteusz sees the crackle of the strange fins as they conduct the light through them, sparking and spitting blue all the way. The storm is ferocious – the ship is being tossed around on the clouds like a pill being shaken in a bottle.

“They should get inside!” Ram calls, splashing into view. “This is only gonna get worse, we don’t need them clogging up the deck!”

“Captain!” a crewman shouts, “there’s a big swell coming, we need you!”

April looks back at Charlie and Matteusz.

“Take my study,” she says, “there are blankets and things in the cupboard, I’ll be down when the storm’s over.”

She runs over to the ship’s wheel, Ram following close behind, and begins to wrestle with it, straining to turn it against the wind. Matteusz reaches out and grabs Charlie by the arm.

“We should go!” he says, and he can just about see Charlie’s nod of agreement. They stagger through the pools of the deck and down into the blessed dryness of April’s study once more, dripping water the whole way. Matteusz pulls down his hood and shakes his head, and droplets fly everywhere, some landing against Charlie’s face.

“Hey!” Charlie says, laughing as he wipes them away. He pulls down his own hood, and Matteusz grins at him.

“Sorry,” he says. They shrug off their soaking coats and shoes, and leave them by the door. They can hear the storm rage on outside, can see it through April’s windows, the sky all inky-black and boiling. Every now and again, the ship will rock with a new splinter of lightning, and they have to steady themselves against furniture or each other to stay standing.

“I really hope it isn't always like this,” says Charlie, clutching Matteusz’s arm to keep his balance, and Matteusz laughs.

“Me, too,” he says. “Shall we find those blankets April was talking about?”

Charlie gives a vigorous nod. 

“I’m freezing,” he says. They search through the cupboards under the bookshelves until they find a pile of thick quilts and cushions, and then Matteusz goes about making them into a nest of some sort while Charlie watches, confused. When Matteusz is finished, he sits, and pats the space on the blanket beside him.

“Come down,” he says, and when Charlie hesitantly obeys, tucks another blanket around his shoulders. “There. You will be warm soon.”

“Thank you,” says Charlie, and Matteusz smiles. With the cold rain, Charlie’s cheeks are pink, his blond hair dark with water and sticking to his skin. He’s still shining, though.

Matteusz pulls his own blanket tighter around himself, and lays back on the cushions, and after a moment, Charlie joins him. They lay there for a while, listening to the storm, the sounds of the crew above them, feeling the sway of the ship in the tempest’s grasp, and somehow, Matteusz feels totally at-ease.

“Charlie?” He turns his head on the pillow to look at him, and finds he’s looking back. “What did you mean, you  _ should  _ miss your home?”

Charlie sighs.

“I  _ do  _ miss it,” he says. “It’s just that there’s so  _ much  _ down here, so much we didn't have… I need to go back, I know that – I have a duty to my people. But I wish…”

Matteusz watches Charlie’s face, and his chest aches. Slowly, he reaches out and brushes the damp hair away from his forehead.

“Is okay, Charlie,” he says, softly. “You will be okay.”  
  
Charlie looks at him with his eyes wide and helpless, and Matteusz just cups the side of his face, strokes his thumb over the soft skin of his cheekbone, and doesn't look away.


	9. Chapter 9

Somehow, without either of them realising it, they fall asleep like that, even in the midst of the storm, and Matteusz only wakes at the creaking footsteps of someone else in the room. Bright yellow daylight is streaming through the window, and he squints through it, raising himself up slightly on his elbows to better look around.

“Sorry!” It’s April. She’s searching for something in the desk drawers, and looking guilty for waking him. Her voice is a loud whisper – Matteusz looks down, and realises that Charlie is still asleep, curled into his chest, his hair mussed prettily, his skin glowing. A flare of warmth bursts in Matteusz’s chest.

“Is okay,” he says quietly, and Charlie shifts, just a little, breathes a sigh against his skin that makes his heart swell. “What are you looking for?”

“Oil, for Ram’s leg,” she says. “With the rain, he worries it’ll freeze up.”

“Could that happen?” 

“It hasn't yet,” April replies. She continues digging through her things until she unearths a small jar and a rag. “Here we go.”

She smiles at Matteusz, then starts to make her way back across the room, to the doors. Her gaze flickers over Charlie, and she pauses, a little stutter in her step.

“He’s shining,” she says, surprised.

“Yes,” says Matteusz. “I was not expecting it, either, the first time.”

“Oh, that’s not – I knew stars did that,” April says. “I just didn't think… well, I thought they had to be really happy, for it to show like that.”

They both look at Charlie, still sweetly oblivious in sleep.

“Wake him soon,” April says. “There’s breakfast on deck. And I thought I might teach you some tricks, in case you run into anything else like Lankin on your road.”

She vanishes upstairs to the deck. Matteusz looks down again at Charlie, wondering how best to wake him.

“Charlie,” he says softly, shaking him gently by the shoulder. Charlie stirs, turns his face more into Matteusz’s shirt with a soft groan. “Charlie, wake up.”

“Sleeping at night is terrible,” Charlie says, blinking into bleary wakefulness. Matteusz tries not to smile.

“Next time, we will sleep at your time,” he promises, and Charlie gives him a tired grin. “April says there is food above deck, are you hungry?”

He nods, and so together, they ascend the stairs after April. 

Even this early, the deck is busy with activity. April sees them arrive, grabs an apple out of the sack beside her and tosses it to Matteusz, who catches it, surprised.

“Help yourself to more,” she says. “Whatever we’ve got, you’re welcome to it. Fresh fruit doesn’t last long on this ship.”

Ram is sitting on the deck beside her, working with close attention on the mechanics of his prosthetic. There’s a half-eaten pear on the deck beside him, one he’s clearly begun and then forgotten about. April keeps glancing at it like she wants to remind him, but doesn’t want to be pushy. Charlie and Matteusz sit, and tuck in - Charlie turns an orange around in his hand with a puzzled frown, and Matteusz can’t suppress his fond smile when April has to take it from him and show him how to peel it.

When they're finished, April stands and brushes the dirt off her trousers.

“Right,” she says, “Matteusz, if you’re ready –”

There’s a polished, rectangular case leaning against the gunwale, and April goes to it, brings it over and lays it down on the deck. She unclasps its bronze locks, flips open the lid and reveals, inside, two long curved blades, black as volcanic rock.

“These,” she says, “used to belong to Corakinus, king of the Shadowkin.”

Charlie flinches, just a little.

“In the same fight where he gave me this,” she continues, tapping the whorled scar Matteusz had noticed the night before, “I won these from him. And I taught myself how to use them.”

She takes the blades from their case and holds them with a confidence borne of long acquaintance. She looks at Matteusz.

“I’ll teach you, too, if you want,” she says.

Matteusz does not like violence. He has never liked violence. But in the forest, Lankin would have cut Charlie’s heart out of his chest and eaten it, except for Matteusz and that lucky tree branch. When the risk of non-violence is death, what alternative do they have?

“Okay,” he says.

*

The crew crowds the edges of the deck and watches like they know they’re in for a good show. April passes one of the scimitars to Matteusz, and holds the other with a practised grace.

“We’ll start slow,” she says.

April’s version of starting slow nearly knocks him over, but she praises his reflexes. 

“That's good, Matteusz,” she says when he parries well. “Just watch your feet, you don't want to lose balance.”

It's hard going. Matteusz loses track of how long they spend dodging and thrusting, moving across the deck like it’s a dance. He’s sweating by the time April decides they should take a break. Ram gets them clean water, and April grins as she takes it from him, wipes her sleeve across her sweaty brow. 

“You’re a natural,” she says, and he smiles. The scimitar feels less and less strange in his hand the longer he holds it, but he doesn't feel like a natural. Charlie doesn’t say anything. He’s got his eyes on April’s blade. Matteusz looks him over, and he sees that his shine’s gone dimmer, that his shoulders are slumped, that he looks smaller than he had that morning. Ram and April fall into conversation on his other side, and he leans in to Charlie’s space a little more.

“Charlie?” he says, so low the others can’t hear. “Are you okay?”

Charlie smiles with half of his mouth, and doesn’t meet Matteusz’s eyes.

“Yes,” he says. It isn't convincing. 

“Charlie…”

“There were, um, battles, with the Shadowkin,” Charlie says quietly, “before, when travel between here and there was still possible… I’ve seen those swords before.”

“I’m sorry,” Matteusz says. “I didn't know.”

“How could you?” Charlie says. “I didn’t tell you.”

“I will tell April I want to stop. We can stop, Charlie,” Matteusz promises, and Charlie shakes his head.

“It’s alright,” he says. “It was a long time ago. You should be able to protect yourself, April’s right. We don't know what else is out there.”

He meets Matteusz’s eyes, finally, and smiles.

“It’s alright,” he repeats.

“Matteusz?” April’s voice distracts him before he can answer. “Are you ready to start again?”

It must be hours before they next stop. Matteusz can feel bone-weariness gnawing at him, and twilight is spilling over the sky, the first twinkling stars appearing. He slumps down beside Charlie as April puts away the weapons, and surprises both of them by leaning his head against his shoulder. Charlie stills just for a moment, and then relaxes before Matteusz can pull away.

“You were very good,” he says, and Matteusz huffs.

“I cannot feel my legs,” he says. Charlie laughs, and the glow of him is suddenly brighter again, just like that. Matteusz knows it is his effect, and it feels like hot soup on a cold night, the knowledge that he makes Charlie happy. 

“You’ll feel worse in the morning,” says Ram. “Trust me, I know. When she taught me, I only had one leg to worry about, and I still felt like I was dying. I don’t envy you, mate.”

“Charlie!” April calls across the deck, and she’s holding another case in her hand, but the shape of this one is unmistakable – she’s holding a violin. Charlie exchanges a bemused look with Matteusz, and then crosses the deck to join her. Matteusz watches them talk, watches April pull the shiny instrument out of its case and hand it to Charlie, placing his fingers on the strings the way they’re supposed to be. 

“She tried to teach me that, too,” Ram says, and when Matteusz turns to him, he’s watching them both, too. “I was rubbish, but she wouldn’t give up until I did.”

“You have known her long?” Matteusz asks.

“A while, yeah,” Ram says. “The same fight I lost my leg, Corakinus nearly killed her – you’ve seen the scar. That day, I was the most scared I’ve ever been, but April… she just got up and kept going. And I figured anyone who could do that was worth following. Didn’t have anything left at home, anyway. Shadowkin killed my dad, my girlfriend.”

“I am sorry.”

Ram shrugs.

“It’s what they do,” he says bitterly, “they just kill. That’s the other reason I’m never gonna leave this boat – I’d die myself before I let anything happen to her.”

Matteusz goes back to watching them – April is breathless with laughter, and Charlie is smiling quizzically at her like he doesn’t quite understand the joke, the violin bow dangling from his fingers. The light dancing off his skin is mesmerising against the blue-bruised night.  
  
“Yes,” says Matteusz. “I think I can understand.”


	10. Chapter 10

The next day follows much the same pattern – as they sail onwards through the sky, April tries to teach Matteusz how to fight properly, and Matteusz tries to learn. After a while, they pause, and April offers out the blades towards Charlie.

“Charlie?” she says, “Would you like a turn?”

Charlie looks startled for a moment, then seems to realise what she’s asking and shakes his head very quickly.

“No, no thank you,” he says. “I’m happier watching. I don’t like knives.”

“Okay.” April retracts the scimitars, smiling. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Charlie gives a sharp nod, but it is clear that he does not think it likely that he will. Instead, after April concludes Matteusz’s lessons for the day, she takes up her violin and beckons Charlie over to play. Matteusz sits with Ram and they watch, again – Charlie’s fingers are hesitant on the strings but by the time it’s dark, he can pluck out the notes April has shown him. The deck is so illuminated by his shine that they don’t even bother with candles. 

Eventually, April takes the instrument back, and begins playing in earnest. She gestures Matteusz over, smiling.

“Dance,” she says. “You’ve worked too hard.”

Matteusz looks at Charlie, the flush pinking his neck, and smiles, and Charlie smiles back, shyly. He doesn’t hesitate, though, when Matteusz offers him his hand, and then they’re face-to-face, Charlie’s spare hand on his shoulder and his hand on Charlie’s waist. 

“I’ve never danced like this before,” Charlie confesses, and Matteusz laughs.

“Me, neither,” he says. “We will have to make it up as we go.”

Charlie smiles up at him, and he’s blinding, so beautiful as to be luminescent. It almost hurts to look at him. April’s violin is lilting and smooth, and it carries them over the deck so that the fact that neither of them know the steps doesn’t even matter. 

Charlie stumbles, laughing, and the spell breaks. Matteusz steps back, and realises how close they’d been standing before he does. He drops his hand from Charlie’s waist, squeezes his hand and lets go.

“Not bad for a first time,” he murmurs, and Charlie smiles.

*

They make port the next afternoon. A village clings to the top of the rocky cliffs where they moor like a barnacle, the houses all low to the ground, moss growing over their roofs, and they follow the main path through it, way out to a cabin that hangs like a gargoyle on a stony outcrop. Most of the crew stays onboard, or else comes ashore for food or leisure, but Ram and April are with Matteusz and Charlie, leading them to the solitary house with a crate full of lightning between them.

“Aside from being worth a pretty penny,” April explains as she checks the case, “this stuff is one of the best weapons we can use against the Shadowkin. Pure light versus pure shadow, you see.”

She has given Matteusz and Charlie a flask of the stuff, and Charlie wears it strapped protectively across his back. Matteusz hopes they never have to use it. He’s got Lankin’s knife still in his bag, but April has given him a sword, too, which he wears from his belt. He doesn’t much like the thought of using that, either, but at least he’s got some idea of how it works. April tells them about the person they’re there to see as they walk.

“She inherited the shop from her dad,” she says. “Her mum used to run things, but Corakinus got to her once he heard she was buying and selling lightning. She lives with her brothers, now.”

When they reach the door of the little cabin, Matteusz reads a wooden sign above the door, marking it as the property of the Adeola family. There are other carvings around the doorframe, but none in any language Matteusz recognises – another Stormhold quirk, he supposes. Ram knocks sharply against the door, and a few moments later, it’s opened by a dark-skinned girl who can’t be any older than fifteen.

“Ram!” she says, and hugs him. She spots April, and gives her the same treatment, but frowns at Matteusz and Charlie. “Who are you?”

“Tanya, these two are the reason we got Lankin,” Ram tells her quietly, and she stares, eyebrows raised.

“Hello,” says Charlie, and Matteusz offers an awkward wave. 

“I think you’d better come in and tell me the whole story,” Tanya says, and steps aside.

*

Tanya’s house – or shop, or whatever it is – has strange and fantastical things hanging down from the rafters, and reminds Matteusz of nothing so much as the market he’d seen when he’d first ventured over the wall. There are a similar number of inexplicable goods, like the telescope pointing out the window which seems to spin around of its own accord, or the shallow bowl on a stand that’s filled with a colour-changing, mercurial liquid. Tanya leads them through to a cosy back corner where a dining table and chairs sit, and they settle down, Ram and April heaving the big casket of lightning along behind them.

Tanya puts a big kettle on the table and roots around until she finds the mugs to accompany it.

“Where are your brothers, Tanya?” April asks, pouring herself a cup.

“Fishing,” Tanya replies. “Between the fact that winter’s on its way and the increasing numbers of Shadowkin, people are getting less and less likely to risk the journey out here for the things I sell, but fish are always in season. They’ll be home later.”

“We’ll try and stick around to see them,” April says, and Tanya nods.

“They’d like that,” she says, “but I’m way more interested in hearing about what you’ve been up to. What happened with Lankin? Was she where I said she'd be?”

“Yeah,” says Ram. “She was in the forest, looking for the star. And she found him.”

He nods his head towards Charlie, and Tanya gapes.

“Oh my god,” she says, “you’re the star? What happened? How did you escape?”

Matteusz turns slightly towards Charlie, but he doesn't seem too uncomfortable with the questioning. He must trust April and Ram that Tanya will not harm him.

“Matteusz hit her with a big lump of wood,” Charlie says. “It was very impressive.”

“She was old,” Matteusz says with a shrug when Tanya looks at him, “it was not very hard.”

But he’s grinning anyway. 

“I tried to poison her, once,” Tanya says. “It didn't work out as well as I’d hoped. I’ve been keeping an eye out for her since then, with runestones and things. But you’re sure she’s dead now?”

Ram nods.

“I had a couple of the crew finish her off,” he says. 

“Quill’s going to be so mad you stole her contract,” Tanya says, and Ram rolls his eyes.

“When is Quill not mad?” he asks. “Besides, there’s always going to be other people to kill. She’ll get over it.”

“Yeah, she  _ never  _ holds a grudge,” Tanya says sarcastically.

“Oh shut up,” says Ram, but without heat. “I just did you a favour. You don’t have to worry about that bitch showing up anymore.”

“Tanya, we actually came here hoping you’d be able to help us out,” says April. “Charlie needs to get home. Is there anything you know, anything you can think of to help?”

Tanya frowns.

“You know they don’t make Babylon candles anymore, right?” she says. 

“People keep saying that,” says Matteusz. “What is a Babylon candle?”

“They used to be used for travelling,” Tanya explains. “You’d light one, and think of where you needed to go, and it would take you there. Nothing travels faster than candlelight.”

“But there haven't been Babylon candles for years, not since the old queen went home,” April breaks in. “Like we told you.”

“So we’ll have to think of something else,” Tanya says. Her brow furrows, and she taps one finger against her lips as she thinks. “Do you think talking to another star would help?”

“Another star?” says Charlie. “How? I thought they were too far away for anyone to contact.”

“No, not another star up there,” Tanya says. “One down here, another fallen star.”

“Would that help?” Matteusz asks.

“More than anything I’ve got,” says Tanya. “I’ve come across a lot of strange and powerful stuff, but nothing that can get a star back home. I’m sorry, Charlie, I wish I could’ve been more helpful.”

“It’s okay,” says Charlie. “Anything you can do, I appreciate.”

He's quiet, and Matteusz glances briefly at him. His heart aches. He cannot imagine how it feels, to be so lost and far away from home, surrounded by danger and hopelessness on every side. He wishes Charlie didn't have to suffer. He wishes he could do more.

“I can point you in the direction of another star, one who’s been down here for ages,” Tanya says. “She’s not the friendliest person you’ll ever meet, but if anyone knows how to help you, it’s her.”

“Who is she?” Matteusz asks.

“Quill,” says Ram. “She’s a mercenary. She’s the one who was supposed to deal with Lankin.”

“A mercenary?” Charlie asks, a look of faint horror on his face. Ram nods.

“The best in Stormhold,” he says. “A total nutter, though.”

“Ram,” April chastises. 

“Well, it’s true,” he says, unrepentant. “If you’re going to go looking for her, be careful.”

“It does not much seem like we have a choice,” says Matteusz. “If she can help Charlie get home, of course we must find her.”

“Matteusz, if it’s going to be dangerous…” Charlie trails off without finishing the thought, but he looks uncomfortable.

“Charlie,” says April, a sympathetic look on her face, “if the Shadowkin are looking for you, it's already dangerous. The best thing you can do to avoid them is to get home as soon as possible.”

“She’s right,” Tanya says. “I can give you Quill’s location, more or less. It's not as accurate as I’d like, but it will help.”

“Okay,” says Matteusz, “do it.”


	11. Chapter 11

Tanya goes to a darker corner of the room, and Matteusz tries not to stare too obviously as she throws a handful of small stones into the air and catches them, muttering to herself. 

“What is she doing?” Charlie asks. When Matteusz glances at him, he’s watching with just as much curiosity. 

“Reading runes,” says April. “It’s like fortune-telling. She asks a question, and the runes answer.”

Tanya comes back, shaking the tunes into a small velvet bag.

“She’s going northeast,” she says, frowning. “Through the forest at the foot of the mountains.”

“What’s she doing up there?” Ram says, matching Tanya’s expression. “That’s close to Shadowkin territory.”

“Who knows why Quill does anything she does?” says Tanya. “But that’s where she is.”

“So, we are going north?” Matteusz asks.

“It’s a few days’ travel,” says April. “You’ll need new supplies.”

“I can help with that,” Tanya says. 

*

Tanya pays Ram and April for the lightning in food and drink and tools for maintaining the ship. She gives Matteusz and Charlie food and drink for their journey, too, and the only payment she takes is Lankin’s knife. While Ram and April take their reward back to the ship, Charlie passes it over with wariness.

“Don’t worry,” Tanya says, catching his expression. “I’m going to keep it out of the wrong hands.”

Charlie smiles, but it doesn't look easy. Matteusz distracts him, pulling on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Help me practise,” he says, and leads him to the herb garden outside. It’s warm, the sun bright in the sky over the sea, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore is a distant comfort. 

“I don’t know anything about sword fighting,” Charlie says, sounding apprehensive. Matteusz smiles at him, and hops up to sit on the fence that paddocks the little garden.

“Is okay,” Matteusz says, “Let’s just sit.”

Charlie climbs up beside him, and they sit in silence for a moment, looking out at the open, gleaming sea.

“I didn't know there was another star down here,” Charlie says softly. Matteusz looks at him, and he’s watching the white foam of the sea splash against the rocks and then dissolve. “I didn't think a star could survive down here.”

“You have,” Matteusz points out, and Charlie laughs.

“Barely,” he says. “But this… Quill. Whoever she is, she's made a life here.”

He’s still looking out at the waves, as if it's easier to say what he's saying when he's not looking at Matteusz. He leans forward with the grip he’s got on the wooden plank they sit on.

“I didn't think that was possible,” he says. The winds lifts his hair and sweeps it over his forehead with a lover’s soft touch. Matteusz, just as gently, reaches out and brushes it back. He says nothing, because he doesn't need to. Charlie looks at him, and smiles, fleeting and lovely.

*

April insists on them staying one final night on the ship. There’s almost a party – she plays her violin again, and Charlie and Matteusz dance in and out of the rest of the crew until she gets bored, drags Charlie aside and has him play so she can pull Ram around the deck, laughing at the grudging smile on his face. Tanya comes aboard and laughs at their ungainly steps, throws crumbs at Ram and laughs harder when he glares at her, and Charlie shines with uninhibited brilliance, just a little bit brighter when he’s by Matteusz’s side. It is the best night Matteusz has had since he crossed the wall – since long before that, really. Tanya heads back onshore to her brothers when it gets too dark to dance, wishing Charlie and Matteusz both luck with finding Quill, and April offers up her study to them again. Matteusz falls asleep with Charlie tucked against his side.

*

In the morning, while the crew starts getting the ship ready to sail again and Ram says goodbye to Tanya, April hugs Matteusz and Charlie both goodbye, and holds on.

“Be  _ careful _ ,” she implores, looking between the two of them. “Both of you.”

“We will,” Charlie promises. “Look after yourselves, and thank you, for everything.”

“Of course, Charlie,” she says. She pulls him into another brief hug, and when she steps back, brushes his shoulders like she doesn't quite want to let go. “Good luck. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Charlie’s eyes slide to Matteusz and away.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. 

Ram steps off the ship and walks over.

“April, Tanya says there’s a storm coming up from the south,” he says, looking a little uncomfortable to have interrupted. “We should get going if we want to make it.”

April nods. 

“Okay,” she says. She gives them both a last smile. “I’ll see you. Look after each other.”

“We will,” Matteusz says, and means it. April turns, and lets Ram lead her back to the ship – but, as if she's just remembered something, stops halfway, turns again and runs back to them. She pulls Charlie in towards her again, whispers something in his ear, so close and quiet Matteusz can't even guess at what she's saying. She pulls away again.

“Okay?” she asks, and Charlie nods. His gaze cuts to and away from Matteusz so quickly he's not sure that he hasn't imagined it. 

“I’ll think about it,” he promises her, voice soft, and Matteusz feels his brow furrow in confusion - before he can ask, April is waving goodbye once more, jogging back to Ram and disappearing onto her ship like she was made for chasing lightning, like too much time on land misfits her. 

Matteusz turns to Charlie.

“What did she say to you?” he asks, and Charlie smiles, small, secretive, enchanting.

“Nothing important,” Charlie says, and Matteusz want to ask again, wants to press the issue until Charlie gives in, but he doesn't.

They wait for the ship to pass out of sight before they leave the cliff side. Charlie leans into Matteusz’s side as they turn away from the sea, and warmth curls up in his chest like a cat settling down to sleep.

“Do you think we’ll find Quill?” Charlie asks.

“I think so,” says Matteusz. “If this is grand adventure like you wanted, it will be easy. It always is in the stories.”

Charlie smiles. 

“What kind of story is this, do you think?” he asks, tilting his head so he can look up at Matteusz.

“This? I do not know. But I think it will have happy ending.”

Charlie’s smile widens, and he takes Matteusz’s hand, twining their fingers together.

“I suppose we should find out,” he says.

*

They make no great haste, but still before long the coast has disappeared behind them. They stop for lunch in the shade of some curious standing stones, and Matteusz makes Charlie laugh, throwing grapes in the air and catching them in his mouth. When they start off again, stomachs full and Charlie’s skin bright as a jewel, the weather changes. Winds blow in from the sea, and the dark clouds of the storm April and Ram must have been chasing cover the sky - when they burst, the rain pours down icy, bouncing against the ground with a sound that's deafening, and hand-in-hand, Matteusz and Charlie sprint for the closest line of trees, Matteusz trying in vain to shield them both under his new jacket, and Charlie almost bent double with laughing. Under the fan of the leaves they come to a stumbling stop, and Matteusz looks down at Charlie's face, flushed with cold and delight, his hair plastered to his forehead and him  _ still  _ shining with a pearly luminescence. A raindrop rolls down the line of his throat, and Matteusz watches it and feels the hitch in his own breath. Charlie's smiling mouth is a curve of white and coral pink. Matteusz swallows and looks away from it to run a hand through the damp spikes of his hair, a little shakily.

“We should have kept April's coats,” he says, and Charlie laughs softly again, just once.

“Probably,” he says. His voice is quiet; it makes Matteusz realise how close they are standing, fingers still gripping each other. “But I like the rain. I didn't know it would be like this.”

Matteusz risks looking at him again. In the cloudy blue light of the storm through the trees, he is turned away from Matteusz, looking over his shoulder back to the fields where the rain is still hammering. The pale stretch of skin above his shirt collar is exposed in a long line, and Matteusz wants to touch it, to put his mouth or fingers to it and see if Charlie would shiver.

“No,” he says, matching his voice to Charlie's, “me, neither.”

Charlie turns back to him and smiles again.

“Shall we keep going?” he asks. “It isn't dark yet.”

Matteusz only nods, not trusting himself to speak. They keep heading in the same direction, the trees keeping them safe from the worst of the weather, and he is wildly aware of Charlie’s hand in his with every step. 

Eventually, the rain dies down and the sun begins cautiously to peek out from behind the clouds – judging from its position in the sky, it’s late afternoon, three, maybe four o’clock. They walk with it shining down on them and hope it dries most of their clothes. When it sets a few hours later, they stop again to rest for the night. Charlie, Matteusz notices, makes no mention of the still strangeness of sleeping at night, just settles down next to Matteusz so that the last things they see before they close their eyes are each other's faces.


	12. Chapter 12

They've become lax. Travelling on April’s ship, they have had no cause to worry about what dangers may appear at night, and Matteusz is so content, watching Charlie drop into sleep with not even an arm’s length between them, that it doesn't occur to him that this strange land is not always safe. Two days of travelling by foot, Charlie so joyfully and achingly beautiful, the land a stunning landscape under their feet, Matteusz forgets to be wary. He realises his mistake when he wakes up with a hand over his mouth and a short dagger pressed against his throat. He looks up at a woman with a dangerous look on her face and the long ridge of a scar over her left eye kneeling over him. Charlie is nowhere to be seen, and it is this, more than the blade against his skin, that kicks his heart into overdrive.

“Don't make a sound,” the woman says. She takes her hand carefully away from his mouth.

“Where is Charlie?” he demands, and she flexes her grip on the knife, pressing it a little more insistently against his Adam’s apple. “What have you done to him?”

“I thought I told you to shut up,” she says. Then frowns. “Who’s Charlie?”

“I am.” Charlie’s voice comes from behind Matteusz, and he steps out from his hiding place with Matteusz’s sword held out in both hands in front of him. Matteusz’s chest floods with relief. “Drop your weapon.”

The woman looks surprised for only a moment before she flattens her expression again into one of cool malice. She doesn't remove the dagger.

“I don't think you know how to use that,” she says, smirking. 

“Do you want to find out?” Charlie asks, and he sounds deadly serious. If Matteusz didn't know better, he might believe the threat. “Let him go,  _ Quill _ .”

This time, she can't hide her shock. Her hand twitches away from Matteusz’s neck for an instant, and he scrambles away from her. As he climbs to his feet, Charlie gives him a relieved smile, and it feels like a hand around his heart, squeezing. He notices, now, the faint glow of Quill’s skin, the way it had flickered when Charlie said her name.

“How do you know that name?” Quill says. She stands, and for the first time Matteusz notices the swell of her belly - she lays the hand not holding the dagger protectively across it. “Who are you?”

It seems to make Charlie stop in his tracks a little, the realisation that Quill is pregnant. The sword wavers slightly.

“Charlie,” he says. “I’m–”

“No,” says Quill. She looks him up and down. “I know who you are. You’re a star, like me. You’re the prince. They finally got to you, did they?”

“Yes,” Charlie says. The sword sags again, until it’s dangling from his hands. 

“We were looking for you,” says Matteusz. “We thought you could help.”

Quill laughs.

“And why would I do that?” she asks. “You don't mean anything to me.”

Charlie starts, a frown on his face.

“I am your  _ prince _ –”

Quill sneers.

“You are no prince of mine,” she spits. “Your family cares so little about their people I doubt you could point my constellation out on a map.”

“That’s not true,” Charlie says, fuming. “We’re at war, my parents are doing everything they can to–”

“Your parents are tyrants,” says Quill, and Charlie’s scowl is furious.

Matteusz steps in before it can escalate further, noticing how, while Charlie’s shine has dimmed throughout the exchange, Quill’s has only grown brighter.

“You can argue about it later,” he says. Charlie shoots him a hurt look, but he takes a step out of Quill’s space, anyway.

“The human is right,” says Quill. “You have bigger problems to deal with.”

“He has a name,” Charlie says, glaring, and Quill rolls her eyes. 

“Sorry,  _ Your Highness, _ ” she says, the title deliberately mocking as it leaves her mouth. She looks at Matteusz. “Go on, then. What do I call you?”

“I am Matteusz,” he says politely. “It is good to meet you.”

Charlie snorts a little in disbelief, but Quill doesn’t pay him any notice, still regarding Matteusz.

“And why are you here?” she asks. 

“I want to help Charlie get back home,” he says. One side of Quill’s mouth quirks upwards in a humourless smile.

“Impossible,” she says. “You’re both wasting your time. If there was a way home, trust me, I would have taken it a long time ago.”

“But you’re…” Charlie gestures, and Quill’s hand rubs over the curve of her stomach.

“This?” she says. “I didn't plan this. But I wouldn't have let it stop me if I thought I could get home. Believe me, prince, you're wasting your time. We’re both stuck down here, you might as well get used to it.”

For a second, the look on Charlie’s face is shattering, but it smooths into something regal and untouchable within seconds. Somehow, it's worse.

“You can't know that,” says Matteusz, a little bit desperately. Quill looks at him with something like pity.

“I've been down here for over a year,” she says, “and in all that time, there's never been so much as a whisper of a way to get back. I've adjusted to it. I suggest your prince,” she jerks her head towards him, “does the same.”

Charlie has been silent, looking off into the trees.

“What about the Shadowkin?” he says. Quill and Matteusz look at him. “Corakinus can go back and forth between here and there without even thinking about it – not like he used to, but enough.”

“What, and you want to ask him how he does it, do you?” Quill says. “Fantastic idea. He’ll kill you on sight.”

“Of course not,” says Charlie. “But the Shadowkin have enemies down here, too. Maybe they know how they do it.”

“Information on the enemy,” Quill says, and she tilts her head like she's seeing Charlie in a new light. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“Where would we find it?” Matteusz asks.

“The palace,” says Quill. “That's where everything goes on down here. But it's pointless, you’ll never get in.”

“I might,” says Charlie. “April said the old queen was a star. Once they know who I am, they’ll let me in.” 

“Oh, you’ve seen April, have you?” Quill says. “No wonder you're so insufferably optimistic.”

“It was April and Tanya who told us where we’d find you,” says Charlie. He’s looking at her curiously, as if trying to remember where he's seen her face before. After a moment, his expression clears as if he's figured it out, and then he scowls again. 

“Oh yes? I suppose it was them who told you where to find Lankin, too – or did you think I didn't know about that? News travels fast in Stormhold.”

“We didn't kill Lankin,” Matteusz says.

“I know you didn't,” says Quill. “Neither of you have killed anyone in your lives.” She almost sounds disappointed. “More’s the pity.”

“You know an awful lot about killing, don't you,” says Charlie. There's a curl of disgust in his voice. 

“You don't get to judge me, prince,” says Quill, narrowing her eyes. “Up there, in the central systems, you don't have any idea what it's like. When those filthy shadows dragged me down to this rock, I had to use what I knew to get by. I didn't escape the Shadowkin through  _ diplomacy _ .”

“No, I don't suppose you did. Because I remember you now, Quill. I know where you came from. Don't pretend you had to learn violence down here – you’ve been using it for years.” Charlie sounds angry, angrier than Matteusz has heard him yet. 

“Be very careful what you say next, prince,” Quill warns, and the look in her eye is a compelling enough reason for Matteusz to step in again.

“Stop it,” he says. “This arguing does not help anyone. We have to go to the palace, to see what they know. We would be smarter to travel together, but not if you two are going to fight each other the whole way. You have a common enemy – think about that, instead of whatever happened in the past.”

Neither of them looks happy about it, but they do stop glaring at each other.

“Fine,” says Charlie. He looks at Quill. “Are you coming with us?”

“Not a chance,” she says. “You couldn't pay me enough.”

“Why? Don't you want to go home?” asks Matteusz. Quill glances at him, and then away.

“It’s a fool’s errand,” she says. “You’ll be wasting your time.”

“But what if we aren't? Wouldn't you rather be sure?”

She studies his face for a long moment, frowning.

“Oh, what the hell,” she says. “If nothing else, I’m sure the palace is full of people who want other people dead. Plenty of work for someone like me.”

She shoots Charlie a look, as if making sure he heard her. He glowers, and Quill smirks.

“Let’s get going,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A beautiful edit for this fic can be found here: http://bazwillendinflames.tumblr.com/post/158074314839/a-little-aesthetic-i-made-for-one-of-my-all-time, courtesy of Ellienerd14.


	13. Chapter 13

As it turns out, Quill has been travelling in a carriage, drawn by a single black horse that stands head and shoulders above them all. She leads them off the path to where she's hidden it, and the horse greets her with a snort, pawing at the ground as if it's anxious to be on the move.

“Sit in the back,” she says, and before Matteusz can offer his help, hoists herself into the driver’s seat and takes the horse by the reins. Charlie and Matteusz exchange a look, and then do as they’re told, shedding their luggage and placing it on the empty seats. The inside of the coach is worn, the dark green leather of the seats peeling away – it probably hasn't always belonged to Quill. Charlie sits first, and Matteusz slides in opposite him. As they start moving, he's staring out of the window with a distant frown on his face.

“Hey,” Matteusz says. He hesitates, then before he can change his mind, reaches across the space between them and covers Charlie’s hand with his own. “What's wrong?”

Charlie sighs, turns his palm upwards and twines their fingers together.

“I don't trust her,” he says quietly. Matteusz studies his expression.

“You said you remembered her,” he says. “What does that mean?”

Charlie sighs again, pulls his gaze away from the window and meets Matteusz's eyes.

“It's complicated,” he says. Matteusz grins.

“I have nowhere else to be,” he says, and Charlie smiles weakly.

“Alright,” he says. “The first thing you need to know is that the galaxy is impossibly big - there are millions of stars, hundreds of millions, and it's my family’s responsibility to keep them all happy, but they can only do so much from the court, so there are devolved leaders, all across the sky, different… quadrants, I suppose, to decide the things my parents can't. And some of these quadrants have different values, different beliefs and traditions than others. Some of them are dangerous.”

He takes a deep breath, squeezes Matteusz’s hand. Matteusz is trying not to marvel at the strange complexity of a whole other way of life, a whole species of people existing up in the cosmos without anyone on Earth ever knowing. He’s impressed, too, by how well Charlie seems to know it – he would have made a good prince, he thinks.

“Quill’s quadrant, her constellation – they’re out on the edge of black space. They’re some of the most violent, combative stars in the sky. Most stars exist peacefully, but where Quill comes from? They’re warriors. There was hardly a day went by without my parents receiving some news of an attack there.”

Matteusz furrows his brow.

“Why?” he asks. “Why were they so violent?”

“I don't know,” says Charlie. “I was never allowed that far away from the central constellations – whatever happened out on the fringes was so far away. All I know is that she's dangerous.”

“At least she is on our side,” says Matteusz. He would choose Quill’s dangerous over Lankin’s any day.

“For now,” Charlie agrees. “But we don't know how long that will last. The outer constellations have never been close friends of the monarchy.”

As if Charlie’s foreboding words have caused it, the carriages rolls to a stop, and they hear Quill clambering down from her perch. They exchange a look, and Matteusz moves, angling his body towards the door so that anyone who comes in will have to go through him before they get to Charlie. He puts one hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw.

Suddenly, Quill is at the door, swinging it open. 

“Something's not right,” she mutters. “Get out. We need to hide.”

“What are you talking about?” says Charlie. 

“Listen prince, we don't have the time to argue about this. Get out of the coach.”

“Not until you tell us what is going on,” says Matteusz.

“Oh for the love of–” 

She looks for a moment like she wants to drag them bodily from their seats, but then they hear something from outside – an insidious little noise, somehow so malevolent even in its quiet that Matteusz feels shivers dance along his skin. He has a feeling like an anchor has been dropped in his gut. Quill puts a finger to her lips, and slowly, painfully slowly, she climbs into the carriage with them, closing the door behind her. It had been bright outside the windows before, but now it seems dark, oppressively so, as if the sun has vanished to some height so distant it can barely reach them.

“Shadowkin,” breathes Quill, and Charlie visibly pales. There is no light coming off of either of them. Matteusz draws his sword, and the hiss of it seems deafening. Quill casts her eyes around the cramped space of the coach as if she's looking for a weapon, and they all hold their breaths, waiting for whatever will happen next.

The window caves in with a mighty shattering noice, fragments of glass spraying over them as a curved black sword slashes at the coach. Quill lets out a shout of surprise, and then she’s pushing them out of the door. They stumble over each other in their haste to escape the blade, and Quill’s horse whinnies in alarm. They straighten themselves out on solid ground, and Matteusz pushes Charlie behind him, all of them facing the back of the carriage where slowly, as if it has all the time in the world, a dark and smoky figure is approaching. There are no words to describe it; it is unlike anything Matteusz has ever seen before – shadow made solid, grotesque and barklike with sparking orange rivers twisting around it. For a moment, he can only gape in horror, utterly transfixed, and then the thing lifts its sword above its head, ready to bring it crashing down on Quill. Matteusz darts forward with his heart in his throat in just enough time to block the hit, but it falls so strongly he staggers back under the force of it.

“Matteusz!” he hears Charlie cry, a clear note of panic in his voice as the shadow rallies and bears down on them once more. Matteusz barely gets his sword up quickly enough to block the next blow, or the next, and his shoulders shake with the effort it takes to hold the shadow at bay. This will not be a long battle.

Suddenly, Quill moves, darts back into the carriage and comes out with Charlie’s canister of lightning in both hands, aimed squarely at the shadow’s chest.

“Out of the way,” she instructs, “and close your eyes.”

Matteusz hastens to comply, ducking around the shadow’s next swing and pulling Charlie with him behind Quill, who, smirking, uncaps the canister and lets loose a blinding fork of lightning that strikes the shadow dead-on. Matteusz, squinting through the light, clutches Charlie’s hand and watches in amazement as the shadow all but disintegrates, the atoms of it blowing apart dustlike in shockwaves away from the collision. It is as though it’s being torn apart, molecule by molecule. The lightning turns it into less than ash, and all the while, it shrieks an ungodly shriek, a tortured, piercing sound that makes Matteusz flinch. 

Then, it is over – daylight pours down again, so bright in contrast that it is almost painful. There's a black scorch on the ground where the shadow had been standing, but other than that, and the ruined carriage, it is impossible to know it had been there at all. 

Charlie tugs on Matteusz’s hand.

“Are you alright?” he asks, concern wrinkling his brow as he searches Matteusz’s face. Matteusz smiles, strokes a thumb lightly over his collarbone.

“Of course,” he says, and Charlie’s smile is small and full of relief. Matteusz looks into the perfect blue of his eyes and thinks,  _ I could kiss him, now _ , but before he can do more than think it, Quill reminds them of her existence.

“Lightning,” she says, tossing the empty canister aside, “not a patch on starlight, of course, but it does the job in a pinch.”

“What do you mean?” Matteusz asks, and she scoffs.

“Don't make me try and explain it to you. It would be a waste of both of our time.”

“Don’t talk to him like that,” says Charlie, disentangling his fingers from Matteusz’s and stepping closer to her. “What  _ do _ you mean? Starlight? What are you talking about?”

“Oh come  _ on _ ,” says Quill. “I knew you centre stars were sheltered, but even  _ you  _ have to know about starlight. It's our greatest defence against the Shadowkin!”

“Quill, you aren't making sense.”

“Oh by the stars, someone save the galaxy if all the royals are as dense as you.  _ Starlight _ , Charles – we’ve all got it, every single star. You must have seen it, you’re the bloody prince!”

“You’re talking about – about going supernova, about this power,” Charlie says slowly. “We can use it against the Shadowkin?”

“Of course we can. Our light cancels out their shadow, kills them stone dead. That's part of why they want to control it. I would have used it here, if it weren't for this.” She gestures to the bump in the front of her dress.

“I never knew.” Charlie’s voice is quiet. Quill looks at him, a calculating expression that Matteusz doesn't like on her face.

“The first time I used mine,” she says, “was when I was escaping the Shadowkin fortress. Killed a dozen shadows.”

“How did you survive?” Charlie asks. He –seemingly unconsciously – takes another step closer to her, away from Matteusz. “Everything I’ve ever been told says it’s impossible – that using that kind of power should have killed you.”

“When you're desperate, anything’s possible,” says Quill. “I've done it a hundred times, when I had a target the usual methods wouldn't work on.” Her gaze goes sly. “I could teach you. You’re the prince – any power you have will make mine look like nothing. You could kill Corakinus, with that kind of glow. You could end the war, once and for all.”

Matteusz sees the way they are looking at each other, the slight thaw of Charlie’s wariness, the gleam in Quill’s eye.

“Wait,” he says, before they can go any further. “This is same power for which Shadowkin knocked you both from sky to begin with, yes?”

“Yes, try to keep up,” says Quill. Matteusz ignores her, and looks at Charlie.

“You told me this kills stars,” he says, and Charlie shifts uncomfortably.

“Yes,” he admits, then adds hastily, “but clearly, not always.”

“Like I said, I’ve used it countless times, and I’m still here,” Quill interjects. Matteusz doesn't even look at her, eyes still fixed on Charlie.

“You could die if you do this,” he says.

“I know. But Matteusz, I could defeat the Shadowkin. All of them,” Charlie counters, and there's a frightening, feverish look in his eyes. “I could save my people. I could make sure this never happens to another star ever again.” His gaze turns beseeching. “It’s worth the risk, isn't it?”

“No.” Matteusz's reply comes without hesitation. “Not to me.”

“Matteusz–”

“Charlie,” he says, cutting him off. “Is too dangerous.”

“I know what I’m doing, human,” says Quill. “Your prince won’t be in any danger from me.”

“You cannot know that,” Matteusz says, glancing at her. “You do not know what this will do to him.”

“Not exactly,” she allows, “but I have more experience than anyone else, and he needs to be able to protect himself.”

“That is what I am for.” He looks back at Charlie, pleading. “You do not need to do this. Please, do not do this.”

Charlie searches his face for an agonisingly long moment, and then nods, slowly.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I won’t.”

Matteusz feels relief like a blossoming cloud of light in his chest. He goes to Charlie, and wraps him in a tight embrace, feeling every fibre where they touch. He closes his eyes just briefly, resting against Charlie’s shoulder as Charlie’s arms go unhesitatingly around his back.

“Thank you,” he breathes, and feels Charlie sigh.

“Of course,” he murmurs. His fingers go to Matteusz’s hair. “Of course, Matteusz.”

“So you won’t fight? Some prince you are.” They pull apart at Quill’s words, and Charlie frowns at her.

“Matteusz is right,” he says, avoiding her eyes. “There has to be another way of defeating them. Yours is – too dangerous.”

Quill studies him for a moment, then, strangely cavalier, she turns away from them.

“Have it your way,” she says. She climbs back into the carriage and starts throwing out debris. The window is beyond repair, little more than a splintering hole in the panelling where it should be, but luckily, the rest of the damage seems superficial. It won't stop them being able to ride it, at least. “Let me know how death is, won’t you?”

“He is not going to die,” Matteusz says, and it has to be true, because anything else is unthinkable.

“Whatever you say,” Quill replies. She climbs out of the coach, brushing off her hands. “Now, get on, or I’m leaving without you. The Shadowkin know where we are, now – we’re too close to their territory, we can't waste any time. If we keep going, we might make the palace by tomorrow evening.”


	14. Chapter 14

Charlie is quiet, in the coach, wrapped in Matteusz’s coat to protect him from the draught of the broken window, and Matteusz worries that he is thinking, still, of Quill’s proposal. He thinks about confronting him again, trying to impress upon him how important he is, how he cannot think about self-sacrifice, but he has no hope his words will work. Instead, he seeks to distract him.

“You know on Earth,” he says, his voice cracking the quiet space between them, “we wish on shooting stars.” 

Charlie looks at him, and the smallest smile hitches one corner of his mouth. His eyes are, gratifyingly, less distant.

“Did you wish on me?” he asks, and Matteusz shakes his head.

“No,” he says. He catches Charlie’s eye, and grins. “I would wish on you now, though.”

Charlie smile grows into something shy and brilliant, a flower unfolding to the sun. 

“What would you wish?” he says. Matteusz grins.

“If I tell you, it won't come true,” he says, teasing.

“I wouldn't know where to start, with wishing,” Charlie says. 

“Well, think of something you want, and ask for it.” They haven't broken eye contact, and Matteusz’s heart feels like it's about to trip over itself. Charlie tilts his head, the little furrow between his eyebrows utterly enchanting – Matteusz wants to smooth it away with a kiss.

“I have you,” Charlie says. “What else could I want?”

Matteusz thinks,  _ this boy might kill me _ . He thinks,  _ I am not sure I would mind. _

*

Quill keeps a fast pace as they continue towards the palace, and Matteusz knows she's anxious about running into more Shadowkin – they don't have any lightning left to fight with. She checks the perimeter of the clearing they stop in twice before she allows them to stay and eat, and she is twitchy and cautious as they sit, her eyes scanning the trees. At one point, she disappears into the woods and comes back some time later with a dead rabbit in her hand – Matteusz watches with faint disgust the way she skins and roasts it with such ease. He finds he can't bring himself to eat it when she grudgingly offers it around, and wanders into the forest where Quill, in her paranoia, has hidden the horse and carriage. Matteusz stands for a while petting the horse, feeds it an apple. 

He thinks about Charlie, about their strange and winding quest to get him home, and acknowledges, finally, the small and selfish part of him that just wishes he would stay forever. It’s a mealy and twisted little corner of his heart, a bitter, wistful fraction that wants Charlie on Earth, wants Charlie with him, just plain wants Charlie – he is not proud of it, but he cannot deny the appeal of the vision it presents. For a quiet moment, in the privacy of the forest and with no-one to judge him but the horse and the trees, he lets himself imagine what it would be like, to keep Charlie tethered here by his hand, to go with him everywhere across this wild and untamed land, side by side. It's a beautiful dream – and that is all he can allow it to be. Charlie deserves more, deserves everything he wants, and that includes going home. He sighs to himself, relinquishing the fiction, and strokes the horse’s long face once more. When he returns to the small fire Quill has set, she and Charlie are facing each other cross-legged, a look of immense concentration on Charlie's face. Matteusz frowns.

“What is going on here?” he asks, and both stars look up at him. Charlie smiles.

“Matteusz! There you are.”

Quill rolls her eyes at Charlie's enthusiasm, stands up and crosses her arms over her chest.

“There’s no need to look so suspicious,” she says to Matteusz. “I was merely teaching the prince to be conscious of his shine; if we’re being pursued by Shadowkin, he should be able to hide himself – since you’re so insistent that he not know how to fight.”

Matteusz scowls, and Charlie, sensing the tension, hastily steps in.

“Shall we keep going? The palace isn't too far.” After a moment, Quill nods, not taking her eyes off Matteusz, and Matteusz lets himself be led back to the coach. It’s a curious role reversal – even in the short time they have been travelling with Quill, Matteusz has already become used to being the peacekeeper. He isn't sure he likes being wrong footed like this. He climbs into the carriage, and Charlie follows him. 

“Are you alright?” Charlie asks, “You look like something’s bothering you.” 

Matteusz summons a smile for him. 

“I am fine,” he says. “I have been thinking about what I will do once you are safe and home.”

The lie is supposed to reassure, but the flicker of Charlie’s expression suggests that it's had the opposite effect.

“Oh,” Charlie says, and Matteusz frowns at the soft, hurt quietude of his voice, even as he tries to smile “What were you thinking?” 

“I think I will stay in Stormhold,” he says, barely paying attention to his words as he studies Charlie’s face, looking for the cause of his sudden sadness. 

“You won’t go to your family? Or Poland?”

“Maybe one day,” he says. He doesn't say that Stormhold will let him remember Charlie when he’s gone in a way that nowhere else will. There's the ghost of a smile on Charlie’s face, insubstantial and hopeless, somehow.

“Maybe I’ll come back and visit you,” he says. 

“You will be too busy,” Matteusz says, trying to lighten the mood again. “You will have to protect your people with all the things you know now about fighting the shadows. You will be a good leader – maybe you will forget all about me.”

He hopes he won’t, hopes that he has some small fraction of the effect on Charlie that Charlie has had on him, but he isn't naïve. Charlie is royalty, charming, handsome, kind, clever, and a star. It would be foolish to expect him to care about Matteusz, who, until recently, led the most insignificant of lives in the most nondescript of villages.

“I wouldn’t,” Charlie says, frowning. “I wouldn't forget you, Matteusz.”

It sounds like he means it, and for a moment the air between them takes on that strange quality again, a close and heady intimacy that pushes Matteusz to lean in. He resists it, moves consciously away from the magnetic pull of Charlie’s eyes, so serious, blue as jewels and staring into his.

“Good,” he says, softly. “I could not forget you.”

He lets himself watch Charlie for only a moment more, then turns to look out at where the window used to be. They’re nearing the edge of the forest, now, the waves of tall green trees giving way to the rocky slopes of the mountains. Quill drives the horse hard over the ground, still eager to put distance between them and the Shadowkin, and before long, leaning out of the window, Matteusz can see the tall spur of the palace come into view. It’s truly magnificent – a cylinder of stone and warm light, rising up out of the bowl of the royal court. The path to the city winds up a long and rocky slope, and there are buildings carved out of the very cliff face, invisible were it not for the lights in their windows. There is snow on the rooftops of some of the taller houses, and Matteusz is reminded of the Polish winters of his childhood, the snow falling like sieved sugar from the clouds. Charlie, craning his neck to see, too, breathes an awed sigh that turns into mist on the cool air.

“It’s beautiful,” he says.

“Yes,” Matteusz agrees, though he’s not looking at the palace anymore. The moon shines down on them, full and comforting, and even Quill must feel its effects, because she slows down as they approach the foot of the climb. Matteusz can hear her giving soft praise to the horse for carrying them this far, and he decides wisely never to mention it to her. He scans every feature of Charlie’s face while they make their slow progression – if there is someone at the palace who can send him home, he does not want to have wasted any time. Charlie is looking at him again, and if he lets himself, Matteusz can pretend it's because he is doing the same thing in preparation for their goodbye. The snow is falling outside, as thick as silence. 

Matteusz wants to speak but finds no words. He tries, anyway, opens his mouth just in time for the terrified whinnying of Quill’s horse to cut him off.


	15. Chapter 15

For an instant, within the carriage they are frozen, just staring at each other in dread, and then before Matteusz can make a move to stop him, Charlie is flinging open the door and throwing himself out onto the ground. He follows as quickly as he can.

“Quill!” Charlie calls, rounding the front of the carriage. “What’s wrong, what happened?”

Quill is tensed in a warrior’s crouch, a long blade in her hand. Snow swirls in dizzying clouds around them, making the landscape strange and sinister, making the air opaque. 

“Find somewhere to hide,” Quill says. Her eyes search the area restlessly, endlessly alert. “It’s the Shadowkin. They’re coming.”

The horse whinnies again, paws at the ground with an anxious urgency that they all ignore.

“I can hold them off for a while, give you half a chance to get to the palace,” Quill continues. “I won't be able to beat them all but I’ll take as many as I can down with me. Now,  get going.”

Matteusz shakes his head.

“No,” he says, “no, we cannot just leave you here–”

“Oh, spare me your moralistic drivel and get out of here,” Quill snaps. “Prince, tell your human I’m right.”

But Charlie looks at Matteusz, and when he turns back to Quill his expression is uncompromising.

“No,” he says, “we’re not leaving you behind. Get back on the coach, get driving. We just have to outrun them.”

“In this weather I won’t have a chance in hell of finding the path again – I’d rather take my chances with the Shadowkin than face certain death falling down that mountain.”

“Then we’ll turn around, go back through the forest. We’re not abandoning you, Quill, we–”

Charlie cuts himself off, suddenly, at the distant sound of a dozen crunching footsteps, marching in unison through the snow towards them. Quill looks at him.

“Get in the coach,” she says, and they scurry to obey as she hoists herself back onto the driver’s bench and turns them around. Charlie clutches Matteusz’s hand as Quill charges the horse back towards the tree line; out of the veiling snow black silhouettes begin to emerge – a regiment of Shadowkin, some armed with bows and arrows, some with the same curved scimitars as April had had. Quill bowls through them, and Matteusz squeezes his eyes shut and finds himself praying to anyone who will listen that they make it out of this alive. His hand is folded into Charlie’s, and that's a kind of prayer in itself -– he doesn't want to let go. 

The carriage judders over the uneven ground. Matteusz can feel his heart pounding wildly – he cannot see them through the flurry outside, but he knows the Shadowkin are in pursuit, knows there’s only so much they can do to avoid them. His grip on Charlie’s hand must be painful, but Charlie doesn't complain. Suddenly, there's the sound of an arrow whistling past the window, a twang as if lodges in the coach’s panelling. The Shadowkin, evidently, have no trouble hitting a moving target, even one driving at the speed Quill is. 

“They’re catching up,” Charlie murmurs. Matteusz doesn't ask how he knows; he can sense it, too. Soon, unless they can summon a miracle, the Shadowkin will ride them down, and they’ll be trapped. Matteusz looks to the front of the coach, willing Quill to push faster, drive smarter, lose their followers and get them to safety. Arrows fly through the air more quickly now, sometimes invisible through the snow, and Matteusz pictures the back of the coach, rife with their coal-black shafts. Then, the sound of arrow finding flesh – the horse screams, a sound that might easily be mistaken for human, and the coach swerves dangerously. On the snowy ground, hard rocks and fallen branches scattered freely, there is no hope of regaining their balance. Quill curses, tries to reign in the horse. The carriage veers, the axle splinters, and they are careening over the forest floor, directionless. Matteusz loses the world to a blur of sound and motion, the only sure thing in the world the feel of Charlie’s hand in his until even that is shaken loose. 

When Matteusz can think again, when the world has stopped spinning, there is snow pouring into the carriage from where the roof has been torn apart in the crash. Matteusz aches all over, but he's been lucky – nothing’s broken. He blinks, trying to orient himself. There's a ringing in his ears that dies down the longer he lies there, crushed into the space between the floor and the door, busted and hanging from one hinge. The snow lands against his skin, and it stings. 

He pulls himself upright, wincing.

“Charlie?”

No response. Matteusz’s head pounds as he tries to stand, casting his eyes around the small space for some sign of Charlie and trying very hard to keep a clamp down on the rising panic in his chest when he doesn't see him. He has visions of the Shadowkin raiding the carriage and carrying him off, tries not to think about them and fails, and can feel his breath coming a little bit sharper and more painful, when suddenly something is pulling at the crumpled panel of the wall, widening the gap between it and the roof. 

Matteusz, head spinning, muscles aching, readies himself as best he can to fight – and doesn't need to. Charlie’s pale face appears in the crack, and Matteusz’s knees almost give out with the wave of relief that comes over him.

“Matteusz, are you alright?” 

Matteusz nods, too overwhelmed for a moment to speak. Charlie doesn't look too hurt; there’s a troubling line of blood that comes from somewhere under his hairline, and his palms are raw from manipulating the ruins of the coach, but at least he’s walking. 

“I need you to help me,” he says. “We don't have much time; the Shadowkin will be here soon. Help me move Quill.”

He ducks out of sight for a moment, and when he reappears, Quill’s arm is slung around him – Matteusz winces when he notices the barbed arrow protruding from her thigh, her hand white-knuckled around its shaft. Her breaths come short and pained as Matteusz helps Charlie manoeuvre her carefully into the coach, lifting her through the gap and settling her onto the floor without jarring her wound too badly. Charlie stays on the outside, looks over his shoulder for the Shadowkin.

“I don't need to be hidden,” Quill snarls, glaring. She doesn't look well, pale and trembling, just a little. “I can still fight.”

“No,” says Charlie, “I need you to get back to Tanya, to contact Ram and April somehow and bring help. The Shadowkin can't find you.”

“Help?” Matteusz repeats, frowning. “Help with what?”

Charlie’s gaze is steady on him, resolved.

“I’m going to let them take me,” he says. Matteusz is shaking his head before he’s even finished.

“No,” he says, “no, this is not happening. You know what will happen to you.”

“Matteusz.” His gaze turns pleading. “I can buy the two of you enough time to get to help, but I need to go with them.”

“They will kill you.”

Charlie shakes his head.

“Not straight away,” he says. “I’ll have some time, but you need to get far away from here. Let me do this, Matteusz. Let me protect you, for once.”

“Charlie–”

“This is suicide, prince.” Quill cuts him off. She tries to stand, but gasps and falls back at the aggravation of her injury. “We should stand, fight them here–”

“No,” Charlie says. “You’re hurt, and there are too many of them to beat. Just get to the others, and it will be fine. Trust me.” He looks at Matteusz. “Go with her. Be safe.” His face softens, almost smiles. “Thank you for everything, Matteusz. I won’t forget you.”

And he’s gone, his feet crunching over the snow at a sprint. Matteusz looks at Quill.

“I have to follow him,” he says. She rolls her eyes. 

“Don't just say it,” she says. She gestures vaguely after Charlie. “Go. I’ll get to the others, and bring help back. Though God knows why I bother.”

“Will you be okay?” he asks. He knows that with every second he spends here, Charlie gets further away, but he cannot leave before he is sure. She takes a breath, and it is almost as though she is drawing herself together before his very eyes. She stops shaking through what looks like pure force of will, and her hand, where it had been resting against her wound, becomes a fist. She snaps the arrow with one swift crack, making Matteusz wince. 

“I’ve had worse wounds than this, human,” she says. “As long as I’m breathing, I’ll be fine. Now, get after that idiot prince of yours.”

Matteusz nods, and then he’s climbing out of the coach, jumping out onto the ground and following Charlie’s footprints in the snow back the way they had come, towards the palace, and the Shadowkin that stand in the way of it. He draws his sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, totally forgot to update yesterday! This chapter is late, but I'll try not to let it happen again. Hopefully this is worth the wait.


	16. Chapter 16

When the footprints lead him to a clearing in the woods, he sees the Shadowkin in their strict ranks, and Charlie facing them. Where they stand, the snow melts under their feet, and the flakes turn into steam in the heat-warped air around them. Matteusz hides himself in the trees, and nobody notices. Charlie stands with his back straight, his chin up, shoulders back, in the posture of a king. His skin has the faintest glow to it, barely noticeable, and Matteusz remembers the lesson he had been having with Quill. This display of his nature, then, must be deliberate. His voice rings out across the clearing with real power in it, enough to raise goosebumps on Matteusz’s skin.

“I surrender,” he is saying. “Take me to Corakinus.”

“What of the other star?” One of the Shadowkin asks, a step in front of the others, shorter, more feminine – their leader, Matteusz assumes. “Surely, you cannot expect us to leave her here.”

“She’s dead,” Charlie says, and if Matteusz didn't know he was lying, he would never guess. “Your arrows found their mark. She’s of no use to you now.”

“A pity,” says the Shadowkin, “but no real matter. You are the one our king wants; the princeling, ruler of the stars. How powerful we will be, with you under our control.”

Charlie’s flinch is imperceptible. 

“Take me to him,” he says, no hint of fear in his voice, and the Shadowkin steps forward to do precisely that, manacles appearing in her hands.

“So eager to go to your doom,” she sneers as she approaches. “I should have known better than to expect anything more. You stars are all the same, in the end. Spineless, snivelling things.”

Charlie says nothing, but lifts his arms in front of him, ready to be chained. Matteusz can watch no longer. He steps out of cover with his sword raised.

“You will not take him,” he says. His voice is as steady as a rock. Charlie whips around at the sound of it, his expression horrified.

“Matteusz, no,” he says. “Get out of here, get to the others, you can’t–”

Matteusz keeps his eyes on the Shadowkin as he answers.

“It is, I think, my choice,” he says. The Shadowkin are watching him now, their attention pulled away from Charlie, and the one who had been stepping forward to restrain him now steps to Matteusz,  instead.  

“What a strange specimen,” she says, sounding almost amused. Matteusz swallows. There is something distinctly unnerving about the Shadowkin, with their bright orange eyeballs, the void black of their irises. 

“Get away from him,” Charlie says, for the first time with a quiver in his voice. The Shadowkin takes another step, ignoring him.

“Why do you step in to defend this star, human?” she asks. “Who is he to you?”

Matteusz’s eyes flick involuntarily to Charlie, but he does not answer.

“Leave him alone,” Charlie demands. “I’m the one you want.”

“But he wants to fight for you, prince,” the Shadowkin says. She takes the scimitar from its sheath at her waist. “I would not deny him that.”

And like a viper, she moves. The Shadowkin he had faced before was fast, but this one moves like a master, darting and spinning and cutting with motions like the wind that still spills snow around them. Matteusz holds her off, using every trick April taught him. The drum of his heart is deafening in his ears as he dodges, parries, dodges again, but somewhere distant, he is still aware that he cannot lose, that Charlie needs him to win. 

“You fight well, for a human,” the Shadowkin taunts. “No doubt you have seen that thieving maggot, the sky captain. The king will be pleased to hear it; he often wonders what has become of her. Perhaps, when he has bled you and your prince dry, he will track her down and find out for himself.”

She darts in with a stab, and he blocks it with a swing of his own, thrusting her back. She almost stumbles, but regains her footing in the snow, and smirks at him so he can see the pointed tips of all her teeth. She stops smirking, though, when Charlie moves to catch her from behind, with a dagger Matteusz recognises as Quill’s pressed against her throat.

“I told you to leave him alone,” he says, voice low. His hand shakes, but the look in his eyes is deadly. Matteusz watches her swallow her surprise, and then she starts to laugh.

“Oh,  _ prince _ ,” she says. “What did you expect would happen now? You cannot have forgotten that we outnumber you.”

She makes a sharp sign with her hand, and immediately, two of the other soldiers break rank to wrestle Charlie away from her. He is forced to drop the dagger in the brief struggle, and ends up glaring up at her from his knees. 

“I must give you credit, prince,” she says, “for entertaining us as you have. I had not expected so much. But now, I think, it is time for the games to end. Shackle him.”

A third Shadowkin joins the two guarding Charlie, and clasp his hands in heavy black iron.

“And the human, too,” the leader says. “Bring him. If nothing else, he shall serve as leverage to keep the star in line.”

Matteusz has no time to defend himself from the Shadowkin that detach from the group to give him the same treatment as Charlie, who is, now, dragged to his feet, pulled to stand beside Matteusz. The female Shadowkin appraises them.

“Take a look at this place,” she says, “for you will not see it again.”

Matteusz doesn't obey. He turns to Charlie, instead.

“I am sorry,” he says, and, even after everything, even though they are, in all likelihood, headed to their doom, Charlie still summons a smile for him. It's shaky and fearful, but at least it's there.

“I’m glad I met you, Matteusz,” he says.

Matteusz cannot respond before the Shadowkin has opened a rippling portal in the air in front of them, a tear like a wafting curtain that shows another world beyond it. 

“I hope you are ready for the king,” she says. She steps through the tear, and they are made to follow.


	17. Chapter 17

The world  they step into is staggeringly different to the place they have just left. The air is molten, the ground pitch-dark – like the Shadowkin themselves, whatever kind of room they’re in now is solid black, obsidian run through with menacing arteries of acid orange. 

“It’s the throne room,” Charlie says, quietly, and Matteusz follows his line of sight to a dais where, sure enough, a tall, branching throne sits, occupied by by far the most sinister Shadowkin Matteusz has seen. Corakinus. He remembers that this is the murderer who had killed Tanya’s mother, Ram’s father, who had wounded April; it is easy to imagine, looking at him. He has an aura of malice about him that’s impossible to miss. 

Charlie and Matteusz are pushed toward the dais, made to kneel in front of it while the Shadowkin who had captured them approaches the throne and bows low before her king.

“Your Majesty,” she says. The king greets her fawning devotion with the stretch of a smile, black gums pulled back over black teeth. “The prince, and his knight. As you requested.”

Charlie’s chin juts up in defiance, a reflex, Matteusz thinks, because his hands haven’t stopped shaking. The king stands, steps down from his platform, and crosses the room to them. In the eaves, on the staircases and at the sides of the room, shadows both real and imagined press claustrophobically – the king’s entire court has arrived, to see this.

“How nice,” says the king, looking down at Charlie, “to see you kneel for me.”

His voice is guttural, beastly. Matteusz feels disgust take shape on his face.

“Leave him alone,” he says, and Corakinus’ attention shifts to him. 

“And what are you?” he says. “The prince’s human pet?”

Matteusz glares. 

“You won’t touch him,” says Charlie. He climbs to his feet, his hands still cuffed in front of him. “If you lay so much as a finger on him, I swear I will burn you from the face of this planet.”

There is fire in his eyes – he means what he is saying, Matteusz doesn’t doubt it. Corakinus only grins.

“Bold words, prince,” he says. “If I did not know your kind for the cowards you are, I might even believe them.”

“Believe this, Corakinus,” Charlie’s gaze is heated with a deep and visceral loathing. “If he comes to any harm, you will not live long enough to regret it.”

Corakinus’ booming laughter is echoed by the watching shadows on all sides. 

“Foolish boy,” he says, “you have no power here.” He looks to one of the guards. “Bring the human to me.”

“Don’t you dare–” Charlie begins, and starts forward, only to be blocked by Corakinus’ lieutenant, the Shadowkin who had captured them. 

“Watch your tone, prince,” she snarls. Matteusz is pulled to his feet, and dragged to stand in front of Corakinus. The King of the Shadowkin looks down at him with smug surety, safe in the knowledge that Matteusz can do him no harm. 

“Are you a warrior?” he asks. Matteusz doesn't answer. Corakinus waits, and when it becomes apparent that he is being ignored, scowls, and strikes Matteusz hard across the jaw. Charlie gives a shout of wordless fury, which no-one pays attention to.

“You will speak when spoken to, maggot,” Corakinus says. “Are you a warrior?”

“No,” Matteusz grinds out, feeling the ache in his face.

“Good,” says Corakinus, “that means it will be easy to crush you. I think I will make the prince watch.”

Matteusz finds himself being spun, forced again to his knees, Corakinus’ scimitar at his throat. A cheer goes up from the gathered crowd, and he looks up into Charlie’s terrified gaze. 

“Let him go, Corakinus,” Charlie says, his eyes never leaving Matteusz’s. Matteusz doesn't speak, doesn't move, hardly dares to breathe – just looks at Charlie with his heart in his throat, knowing that if he has to die, he wants him to be the last thing he sees.

“I see we have your attention now,” says Corakinus. Charlie glares venomously at him.

“Why are you doing this?” he says. 

“Because I will not rest until this world is covered in shadow,” Corakinus answers. “Your species have looked down on us for millennia, but no more. Now, you will help me to conquer this land, and the Shadowkin will have the glory that we deserve. You and your people will burn for us, prince, and your doom will light the path of our destruction.”

Another cheer. The room seems impossibly full. Matteusz swallows, and feels the jagged edge of Corakinus’ weapon against his skin. He still won't look away from Charlie.

“I will die before I help you,” Charlie spits. 

“And so will your human friend,” Corakinus says, and Charlie flinches. Matteusz can see the conflict on his face, and knows he cannot allow Charlie to surrender, not on his account.

“Charlie,” he says. The scimitar presses more insistently against his throat. “You must not listen. Is okay.”

Charlie's expression is heart-breaking, utterly torn, and yet, somehow, still lovely. Matteusz smiles – if he has to die to save Charlie, he thinks it will be worth it. 

“I love you,” he says, and when Charlie hears, for an instant, he flashes pure and dazzling, radiant white. The shadows recoil from around him, until Corakinus orders them back into place, and they restrain Charlie, one on either side, hands on his shoulders. Charlie doesn't seem to notice, staring at Matteusz.

“You do?” he asks quietly, and Matteusz nods, his throat thick, the blade scraping across his skin. Charlie smiles, faintly, angelically. It's as if he has forgotten the danger, the press of shadowy bodies, the king with their lives in his hands.

“When April said goodbye to me,” Charlie says, still softly, his tone almost conspiratorial, “she asked me to think about where my home really was. I think it was you, Matteusz.” His smile becomes somehow more solid. “I think I love you, too.”

The burst of joy in Matteusz’s chest is for a moment overwhelming, all-consuming.  _ I should have kissed him when I had the chance,  _ he thinks, and then Charlie closes his eyes, draws a deep breath, and Matteusz realises what he is doing only a second before Corakinus does.

“Charlie, no!” he cries.

“Stop him!” Corakinus demands, but both of their protests are in vain. Charlie’s light builds and builds until he drowns in it, becomes not even a silhouette. He is blinding – Matteusz watches for as long as he can, but soon he cannot handle the brightness; it is like staring at the sun. His eyes squeeze shut and still, he can see the glow intensify, an orange burn through the skin of his eyelids. There’s a crescendo of white noise that builds in his ears until it is a hurricane, the pressure disappears from his throat, and then –

Nothing. The world plunges again into darkness, into silence. He opens his eyes, cautiously. There is a moment where he is afraid that they will not adjust to the new darkness, that he has been blinded, but it passes; the throne room comes back into being, black walls, orange light – but empty. There is not a single Shadowkin in sight, only scorch marks and smoking ash on the floor where they once were, almost indistinguishable from the stone. There is Matteusz, the throne, and, slumped in a shapeless heap on the floor, Charlie’s body, the light drained from it. 


	18. Chapter 18

Matteusz approaches slowly, shaking. His footsteps echo in the empty hall. He feels as though he’s walking through a dream, a nightmare, and begs himself to wake up. He kneels next to Charlie, feeling cold all over. He turns him onto his back, gently, oh so gently, lifts his head and pillows it against his thighs. Brushes the hair out of his face. His features are frighteningly pale, and lax. He looks asleep. Matteusz doesn't realise he’s crying until the first drops land against Charlie’s skin.

“Charlie…” His voice is little more than  whisper. Charlie doesn't respond. 

Suddenly, there is a burst of noise from the end of the hall, and Matteusz looks up, clutching Charlie to him protectively. The tall iron doors crash open, and into the throne room, April, Ram, Quill and Tanya come running. 

“Matteusz, where–” April cuts herself off as she takes in the scene. She gasps. “Oh, no.”

“Where is Corakinus?” Tanya asks. “What happened, Matteusz?” 

Matteusz cannot answer, so he is grateful when Quill does.

“The prince,” she says. She is looking down at his still form with a complicated respect on her face. “He sacrificed himself to wipe out the Shadowkin.”

“You mean they’re gone?” asks Ram, disbelieving. Matteusz doesn't understand how it can matter, if Charlie is gone, too.

April approaches slowly, pity evident in her eyes. She stops just short of the bubble of space around Matteusz and Charlie, and kneels.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. Matteusz nods, and looks back down at Charlie’s face. His thumb rubs a slow arc over his cheekbone. All of his nerves feel deadened, like the world is happening somewhere far away, like he’s no longer a participant. He keeps thinking of what Charlie had told him when they first met –  _ Have you ever seen a supernova? The destruction is unbelievable. The star rarely survives. _ He bows his head over Charlie’s so close their foreheads almost touch. Another tear splashes against Charlie’s skin.

Charlie’s eyelids flutter. Matteusz freezes. He sees Charlie’s brows twitch together, and pulls slowly away, hardly daring to believe it. Hope is a terrible blossoming vine that twists around his heart, choking and earnest. Charlie opens his eyes, and suddenly the world comes rushing back and starts making sense again. With the pure blue of his eyes, Charlie has put the universe to rights. He looks up at Matteusz, who is trembling in suspended hope, and smiles.

“Hello,” he says. He lifts his hand to stroke along the side of Matteusz’s face. His fingers are ice-cold. Matteusz stares. 

“Charlie…” April’s voice is little more than a shocked exhale. Matteusz reaches up and covers Charlie’s hand with his own, not daring to look away from his face. He can feel himself shaking, still. Charlie is watching him half-expectantly, as if waiting for him to speak. He can’t. His heart is full to bursting with emotion, but he can’t find a single word. Instead, he drops Charlie’s hand so he can clutch the fabric of the jacket they’ve shared, right over Charlie's heart. Matteusz leans down, and kisses him. 

The angle is awkward at first, but soon Charlie pushes himself upright, pushes into the kiss, knotting his fingers in Matteusz’s hair. Kissing Charlie feels like every night Matteusz has ever sat out under the stars, feels like burning, feels like bliss. His heart is swelling like a tide. He is awash in the feeling of Charlie’s mouth against his, the sharp taste of him like a sudden rain or a lightning strike. His hands find the soft skin of Charlie's neck and rest there, drawing him closer, keeping him near. He wants, he thinks, to live in this moment forever. He feels boundless.

Quill clears her throat. 

“Not that this isn't all very touching,” she says, and Charlie pulls away, cheeks flushed, to look at her. “But would either of you care to explain what happened here before we arrived?”

“Oh,” says Charlie, and Matteusz is slightly smug to hear his breathlessness, “right.”

“Where did the Shadowkin go?” Tanya says. “This place is supposed to be crawling with them.”

Charlie looks around as if he’s only just noticing the room’s emptiness. His eyebrows furrow, and he looks back to Matteusz.

“Did I do that?” he asks, quietly, almost disbelievingly. Matteusz takes his hand, and nods.

“You were so bright,” he says, looking down at their linked fingers. “They just burned.”

“All of them?” presses Quill. “Even the king?”

Matteusz nods, watching Charlie’s face.

“Yes,” he says. “I saw it.”

Ram lets out a low whistle.

“That’s a good trick,” he says. Matteusz is inclined to disagree; he has not forgotten how close Charlie had come to death, is not sure that he would consider it a victory if he had not pulled through, no matter how many Shadowkin were killed. He says nothing, but studies Charlie as closely as a critic would study a work of art. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. Charlie’s mouth lifts into the slightest smile.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he says.

Matteusz wants to kiss him again.

“You, too,” he says instead, and squeezes his hand. They will have words, later, about how scared Matteusz had been, about how Charlie should not have put himself into a position as dangerous as that, but for now, Matteusz is happy to bask in the simple relief of knowing that they are both whole and alive and smiling.

“Charlie?” April says, tentative, as though she's hesitant to breach the moment. “You came here to find a way home. Did you?”

Charlie’s smile falters.

“No,” he says, voice soft. He looks up at Quill. “I’m sorry.”

Quill doesn't let herself react at all.

“I told you it was hopeless,” she says. Matteusz twines his fingers closer with Charlie’s. “We should leave the place in case you missed any of them.”

She starts walking at a brisk pace back to the door, seemingly unhindered by her injury. She doesn't look back. Left behind, they all look at each other, and in silent agreement, begin to follow. Charlie sways where he stands, clearly exhausted by his display, and he leans heavily into Matteusz as they make their way out of the palace. Something occurs to Matteusz.

“Quill,” he calls, “how did you contact the others so quickly? We were so far away.”

“Don't be stupid,” is all the response Quill gives, so Tanya takes pity and explains.

“We have our own ways of communicating,” she says. “Quill’s got runestones of her own, and in emergencies, there are other ways we can get in contact. You aren't the only ones who’ve looted through a witch’s things.”

“You’re lucky the wind was good,” says Ram. “It would have taken us a lot longer to get here, otherwise.”

“Thank you,” Matteusz says. “You did not need to come.”

“Clearly,” Quill mutters, looking at her nails. No-one pays any attention. April smiles at Matteusz.

“Of course we did,” she says. “What else are friends for? Now, let’s get back to the ship – before Tanya’s brothers start to worry too much.”

Tanya rolls her eyes.

“I’m not a  _ child _ , April,” she says. 

“You are, though,” says Ram. “You’re literally a child.”

“You know what I meant, idiot,” Tanya says, crossing her arms. “I don't need you guys to baby me.”

“Tough,” says Ram. “Try and stop us.”

“Tanya, you know none of us think of you as a child,” says April. “But that doesn't mean we don't worry. Now, come on - I’m sure Charlie and Matteusz are exhausted.”

Matteusz hadn't realised it until April spoke, but he is, truly, down to his bones. He looks sideways at Charlie, and sees the same consuming weariness reflected double on his face. Matteusz wraps his arm tighter around him, trying to support more of his weight, and Charlie offers him a soft smile in thanks. They make their slow way up a winding path to the clifftop where April’s ship is anchored, yellow lanterns on-deck glowing with a welcome warmth. 

There is some jostling as they negotiate sleeping space, but ultimately, Charlie and Matteusz end up in the same place before, a nest of cushions and blankets on the floor of April’s study. There are probably more comfortable spots on the ship – Matteusz thinks Tanya has unearthed what's more-or-less a real mattress from somewhere below decks, and even the hammocks don't seem too objectionable – but neither he nor Charlie are unhappy with their lot. Too tired to talk through the chaos of the day, they fall asleep quickly, but this time, when they lay down, Matteusz tucks Charlie against his chest with total confidence before he closes his eyes. He brushes one hand lightly over Charlie’s soft and tousled hair, then rests it over the steady pulse of his heart. He lets the reassuring beat lull him into unconsciousness, and when he wakes up hours later from a vision of Charlie’s cold, still body against the unforgiving black stone of the throne room, the still-sleeping boy in his arms is the best comfort he could imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't update this yesterday because I went to MCM Birmingham instead - Fady and Greg were there and they were as super cute as their characters are on the show.


	19. Chapter 19

Matteusz wakes to a shy and fleeting kiss, Charlie there and gone again, leaning away from him the moment his eyes flutter open. He’s a feather-touched silhouette against the light that streams in through the window, a hazy shape drenched in the golden morning sun. For a moment, Matteusz can only stare in mute wonder.  _ I came so close to losing you _ , he thinks, but the nightmare feels as real as shadow, a passing cloud of insubstantial fear.

“Good morning,” he says eventually, for lack of anything better. Charlie smiles. Everything about him seems miraculous today.

“Good morning,” he says. He starts playing with Matteusz’s hand, looking down at where it rests on the blankets. “I had a dream last night.”

Matteusz blinks at him, thrown, momentarily.

“I thought stars did not dream?” he says, confusion furrowing his brow. Charlie nods.

“We don’t, normally,” he says. “But I did. I saw my mother.”

Something in Matteusz’s chest tightens painfully, splintering the perfect scene. He doesn't know if he wants to hear what Charlie has to say next, but forces himself to ask.

“Your mother?”

“She just appeared in front of me, exactly as I remember her,” Charlie says. “She said she wanted me to come home.”

Matteusz lets his eyes fall closed, so Charlie doesn't have to see how the idea of him leaving hurts. He tells himself that this is better than what he had feared yesterday, that he can live with this.

“Of course she does,” he murmurs. “She must miss you.”

He feels Charlie's cool hand cover his, and squeeze.

“Matteusz,” he says gently, and Matteusz opens his eyes, unable to resist his voice. Charlie has raised his eyes from Matteusz’s hand, and looks at him now with total sincerity. “I told her I couldn't. That the knowledge of any path back was lost forever, and that even if I had it, I would stay here.”

“In Stormhold?” says Matteusz, hardly daring to hope. Charlie’s smile is the softest thing he’s ever seen. 

“With you,” he says. “Poland, England, here. Wherever you went, as long as you’d have me.”

“Of course I would,” Matteusz turns his palm upwards and laces their fingers together. “Charlie, I would want to be with you forever.”

He can't help himself – the giddy joy that he had woken with, seeing lovely, living Charlie, takes him over again. He leans in and captures Charlie in a smiling kiss, cupping the back of his neck with his spare hand. When they break apart, they are both grinning. 

“I love you,” Matteusz says breathlessly.

“I love you,” Charlie replies. His skin is glowing fit to outshine the rising sun behind them. He’s celestial, luminescent, alien, and he wants to be with Matteusz just as much as Matteusz wants to be with him. It is almost too much to bear. Matteusz touches their foreheads together, his hand still on the back of Charlie’s neck, and for a while they just take each other in, in perfect silent understanding. Charlie lifts his hand after a moment, and traces one finger over the shape of Matteusz’s lips. Matteusz kisses it gently, and Charlie’s light fills the room. Matteusz was wrong, before – this is it, the moment he could live in for the rest of time; he thinks he would never ever regret it.

The doors at the bottom of the stairs open, and Tanya enters, looking distinctly uncomfortable to have interrupted.

“Sorry,” she says, “but April needs to know where she’s taking you.”

Charlie and Matteusz look at each other. It isn't something Matteusz has considered, where they will stay – he always assumed he would be alone by now, Charlie having returned to the stars, and his only plan had been to travel.

“We will come up in a moment,” he tells Tanya, and she nods.

“You missed breakfast,” she says. “April didn't want to wake you both, because of yesterday, but if you hurry, I think there’s still some bread Ram hasn't gotten to yet.”

“Thank you, Tanya.”

She nods again, flashes them a quick, awkward smile, then returns the way she'd come. Matteusz looks back at Charlie. He knows they should discuss what happens next, where they both go from here, but it feels too massive, too frightening a topic. They’re both so young. 

“Breakfast?” he says, instead of anything else, and Charlie nods, a relieved smile on his face.

“Breakfast.”

They ascend to the deck hand-in-hand and the others look up from where they’re leaning over a large map spread across a crate. April smiles brightly.

“Good morning!” she says. “How are you both feeling? I would have woken you earlier but after the day you had yesterday I figured you’d need the rest. How are you, Charlie?”

Quill is watching him carefully when he answers.

“I’m fine,” he says. Almost too quickly. Matteusz hides his frown. “Back to normal.”

“Good,” says April. “We were so worried about you.”

“You did what Quill does, yeah?” Ram asks. “You killed them all – you must be even more powerful than she is.”

Charlie flinches slightly, and April gives Ram a warning look.

“Well it hardly matters, does it, Ram?” she says. “What’s important is that Charlie and Matteusz are both safe.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Ram says. “It’s just that there’s a lot of evil out there, and if Charlie’s like Quill, between the lot of us we could–”

Matteusz sees Charlie’s glow fade like the light’s been bleached. He’s about to step in and stop Ram, but Quill beats him to it.

“It’s probably not wise for the prince to use his power again anytime soon,” she says, stepping forward with a slight limp. Matteusz wonders how much her wound pains her still. “Imagine your worst hangover and multiply it by a hundred, and you’re probably close to how he’s feeling right about now.”

Ram doesn't deny the drinking, but Matteusz is far more interested in the way Charlie’s face heats in light of Quill’s comments. Now that he is looking, he notices that without the sun behind him, Charlie does not look well – there’s a greyish pallor to his skin that had been invisible below decks. Matteusz frowns.

“Charlie?” he asks. Charlie tries for a smile. It is not as convincing as it had been in April’s cabin.

“I’m fine,” he says. Matteusz’s frown deepens. 

“Do not lie to me, please,” he says, and Charlie looks slightly ashamed of himself.

“It's just a headache,” he admits. “Really. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Quill snorts.

“You’re a horrible liar, prince,” she says. “Besides, you’re forgetting that I’ve been through the same thing you have – there’s no point in trying to hide it. If we have to fight again and you’ve got an injury none of us know about, you’ll be a distraction we might not be able to afford. So rather than playing the martyr, let someone look after you. You’ve hardly got a shortage of volunteers.”

Charlie looks properly chastised at that.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I didn't want to be a burden.”

“It’s okay, we can all be idiots sometimes,” Tanya says. “You should have seen Ram back when he was still getting used to his leg.”

Ram glares, but doesn't argue the point.

“What do you need?” April asks with her usual kindness. Charlie shifts uncomfortably.

“I don't know,” he says. “I don't think there's anything you can do to make it better – it's not a normal kind of wound.”

“You need to get your strength back,” says Quill. “The first time any star does what you did yesterday it takes a toll. Rest and nourishment – those are the only cures I know.”

April nods.

“We can handle that,” she says. “Why don't you go back downstairs, and I’ll bring you something to eat? I was going to ask you where you both wanted to land, but it can wait until you’re well again.”

Matteusz nods decisively, and squeezes Charlie’s hand. 

“Okay,” says Charlie. He seems embarrassed and discomfited to have them all so concerned for him, and it makes Matteusz’s chest twitch a little in anger – why, he can't help but wonder, is Charlie so unused to this kind of care?

Instead of asking, he just says, “Thank you all.” He nods to Quill, singling her out especially, but she only rolls her eyes.

They sit cross-legged on the desk in April’s cabin, waiting for their promised meal, and Charlie won’t meet Matteusz’s eyes.

“I’m sorry for lying,” he says.

“Is okay,” Matteusz answers softly. When Charlie still won’t look up, he starts to play with his fingers, trying to encourage a response. “I understand that you do not want anybody to worry. But we are your friends. It is our job to worry about each other. Even Quill.” 

Charlie smiles for a second.

“I’m not used to it,” he says. “Before I fell, it was important that I never showed any weakness, and I didn't exactly have an overabundance of people to care about me. I suppose I forgot it’s different down here.”

“Very different.” Matteusz lifts Charlie’s hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Better, I think. I do not want you to feel lonely anymore.”

Charlie, finally, meets his eyes.

“I’m not lonely,” he says, “not with you.”


	20. Chapter 20

After they’ve eaten the lunch April brings down for them, she insists that Charlie gets some more rest. The room is darker now, the glow of morning giving way to the distant light of afternoon, and Charlie does not argue when April forbids him from coming above decks until he has slept.

“We want you to get better, Charlie,” she says, her cheeks dimpled with her earnest smile. “There's really no rush. Healing takes time.”

“I will stay with him,” Matteusz says. He's not concerned that Charlie will disobey her well-meaning orders, but he has not yet had enough time to come to terms with how close he had been to losing all of this, and he does not think he will handle being separated from Charlie well. April’s smile suggests that she understands.

“Alright,” she says. “You know where we are if you need anything.”

She leaves them alone, and Matteusz leads Charlie back down to their makeshift bed. The toll that using his power has taken on him grows more obvious as time passes – he looks totally drained, and curls up against Matteusz’s side like he's freezing, seeking warmth. Matteusz just tucks his arms around him and holds him close. He’s in danger of drifting off himself when Charlie speaks.

“You and Ram said I killed them all,” he murmurs, so soft that Matteusz isn't even sure he's supposed to have heard. “All of them.”

Matteusz doesn't know what to say. Charlie lifts his head from where it's been resting against Matteusz’s chest and looks up at him.

“When Corakinus threatened you it was all I could think about doing,” he says, “and I’d do it again, because if I hadn't, I would have lost you. What does that make me, Matteusz?”

Matteusz doesn't know. He's thinking about every time he had stepped up to some new evil in defence of Charlie and known with absolute certainty that if it came down to their life or Charlie’s, only one outcome was acceptable. He had accepted April’s sword fighting lessons and all that they implied. If it had been Charlie with the blade to his throat, Charlie’s life in the balance and Matteusz with one weapon in his arsenal to save it, would he have done any differently? He struggles to say yes.

“It makes you human,” he answers finally. Charlie looks up at him with a heartbreaking expression on his face, eyes thick with unshed tears, and Matteusz can only stroke his hair and kiss him, as gently as if he were glass, heart heavy. Eventually, he lets himself be comforted, and Matteusz manoeuvres them both until he is sitting propped against the cushions and Charlie’s head is in his lap. He brushes his fingers over Charlie’s hair and watches him until he’s asleep, and then he keeps watching. How strange and sad this boy is. While he sleeps, Matteusz thinks idly about where they will tell April to land, about showing Charlie his tiny English village, and then perhaps Poland… He imagines the two of them holed up somewhere – his grandparents’, maybe  –  with the snow falling outside, keeping each other warm. It’s a nice image. He embellishes it with tiny touches, this idyll of the future, keeping himself occupied while Charlie rests. It passes the time easily.

He looks up at the sound of the door opening, careful not to jostle Charlie too much. He’s expecting April, Tanya, maybe, but it’s not either of them – it’s Quill. He tries to mask his surprise.

“Hello,” he says. She raises her eyebrows at Charlie’s position, but doesn’t say anything. She leans up against the edge of April’s desk. Matteusz is starting to feel uncomfortable with the silence. “How is your leg?”

“Fine,” she says shortly. She jerks her head towards Charlie. “How’s your prince?”

“He will be okay,” Matteusz says. He looks down, brushes a stray lock of hair away from Charlie’s forehead. “In time.”

“What are you going to do, the two of you? I imagine you won’t stay with the ship for long.”

“We haven’t talked about it,” Matteusz admits. “But we will be together.”

Quill nods.

“You’re staying in Stormhold, then,” she says. “Probably for the best. The stupid boy will need someone watching out for him.”

Matteusz furrows his brow.

“Wait,” he says. “Explain. What makes you think we will stay in Stormhold?”

Quill looks at him as if he is being exceptionally stupid. 

“Stars die if we cross the wall,” she says. “If you want to be with Charlie, it has to be here.”

Matteusz says nothing – the dream of showing Charlie the country where he’d been born evaporates, and suddenly he feels an unexpected pang of loss; his parents, distant as they had been, will never see him again. Quill watches him for a moment, waiting for a response, before she sighs. She straightens.

“Tell April what you decide,” she says. “There’s nothing stopping you from returning, after all.”  
  
After she goes, Matteusz stares out of the window behind April’s desk seeing nothing. His fingers comb through Charlie’s hair on autopilot. 

“Matteusz?” Charlie stirs in his lap, shifts until he’s looking up into Matteusz’s face. He looks better than he had this morning. “What's wrong?”

Matteusz tries to smile but he can feel how forced it is. It falls away quickly.

“Nothing,” he says. “Quill came by to check on you.”

“Quill?” Charlie frowns, sitting up. He takes Matteusz’s hand with an unconsciousness that makes it seem like almost pure habit. “Why her?”

Matteusz cannot lie to him.

“She wanted to know what we would do now,” he says. “Where we would go.”

“Wherever you want,” says Charlie. “I meant what I said. Anywhere you wanted, Matteusz, here, or over the wall, or anywhere else, I don't care.”

Matteusz loves this boy so much. He kisses him, just once, savouring the sweetness of it, then pulls away. Charlie is watching him with a furrowed brow.

“We cannot cross the wall,” Matteusz says. “Quill told me that stars cannot survive in the human world.”

Charlie’s expression crumples, then resolves itself into one of determination

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ll stay with April and Ram. You don't have to choose between your home and me.”

“Charlie,” Matteusz says, squeezing his hand, “I have already chosen. I told you before that there is little for me back home – it is with you that I want to be.”

Charlie shakes his head.

“But your parents,” he says, “Poland, the country you love–”

Matteusz cuts him off with another kiss, pulling him in with one hand on the back of his neck and the other framing his face. When he pulls back, Charlie’s skin is flushed, pale roses blooming in his cheeks.

“I love you more,” Matteusz tells him. “You cannot go home, so neither will I. It is simple.”

Charlie stares at him, and slowly, wondrously, a smile like sunrise grows over his face.

“Matteusz,” he says, and Matteusz hears  _ I love you _ . He smiles. There will be endless time for future plans, but here, now, in this miraculous vessel as they sail over the patchwork blanket of Stormhold, he and Charlie are warm and safe and together – this, anywhere, is what he wants. Outside the window, night is casting a hush over the country, painting the sky in shades of dusky blue, and the stars are coming out. Charlie gives a soft and peaceful glow, and the touch of him is incandescent. Matteusz smiles, and presses their lips together once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it, guys! Last chapter. If you've stuck with this the whole way through, particularly if you've commented or left kudos, thank you so much! It's been so much fun to write, and I hope you've enjoyed it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're enjoying this at all, please comment, kudos, bookmark - anything you like to give my ego a little boost. Maybe consider checking out some of the other writing I've done for this fandom, and come chat to me at queer-z0mbies.tumblr.com, I promise I'm friendly.
> 
> Thanks to Caitlin, without whom this probably wouldn't have been finished <3


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